


Tests of the Maker

by stealyourshiny



Series: Tests of the Maker [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Humor, Blindness, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Letters to the Maker, M/M, Post-Dragon Age II, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, temporary disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:19:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealyourshiny/pseuds/stealyourshiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme Prompt: After the events of the game the party parts ways. Except for Anders and Fenris that ended up together. Since Anders is the most wanted man in Thedas they always have to flee... Together.</p><p>In the midst of hatred and fights they start to like each other...</p><p>Story 1 in Tests of the Maker Series.</p><p>UPDATE: I am doing a massive overhaul of the series in an attempt to get my mojo back and finish it. If you are subscribed, I apologise for the influx your inbox is about to get. You might enjoy re-reading it however, without all the errors and with some minor changes to formatting/wording. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the end of Dragon Age 2. There may be Legacy and DA2 Spoilers. This was a fill for the DA2 Kink Meme on LJ.

_Dear Maker,_

_What. The. Fuck._

_No, seriously Maker. What the fuck?_

_No love,_

_Anders._

It had started out for the best.

They’d fought Meredith, ran away, made it as far as Rivain, and parted ways in the interest of making it more difficult for people to track them down. Well, except for Hawke and Isabela. Anders was pretty sure they were joined at the hips somewhere off the coast of Par Vollen.

At first he thought, ‘I’ll go to Tevinter! No one will find me there!’ And then he thought, ‘No wait, of course they’ll find me there. That’s the first bloody place they’ll look after Kirkwall.’ So then he thought, ‘I know! I’ll go to Orlais! The Divine will never look for me under her nose!’ And then he realised, ‘Am I fucking crazy?’

Then it hit him. Ferelden. Orlais and Ferelden _hate_ each other. Ferelden would _never_ let an entire army march across its border from Orlais, no matter _what_ the Divine said. Besides that, Loghain Mac Tir’s daughter was on the throne, and he seriously doubted she’d put up with any nonsense from Orlais.

So Ferelden it was!

...Supposed to be anyway.

The lovely ship that was taking them to Amaranthine, then Denerim, then Gwaren (which is where Anders wanted to get off), stopped in Alamar. Unscheduled. With lots of swords and pointy things.

And now he was sitting, with his hands tied behind his back, his feet tied together in front of him, a gag in his mouth (apparently because he was annoying or something. That and the fireballs.), in a tiny cage with someone else who was unconscious and covered with a blanket of some sort. Anders could only tell it was an elf because of the bare heels he could see sticking out of from under the cloth.

_Dear Maker,_

_If this is about your house, I’m sorry._

_Okay, I’m not really, but is this really necessary? I mean, if you wanted to punish me, couldn’t you just have had Sebastian find me and string me up by my ankles? The Templars tie me down and take turns fucking me?_

_No love,_

_Anders._


	2. Part One

He’d been stuck in this cage for hours now, and his stomach was beginning to grumble. The bottom of his foot itched too. Not to mention the whole cramped thing, and the smell. He was also a little cold without his boots and his coat. At least they had the good taste to steal _those_.

The unconscious blanket pile next to him groaned.

Anders turned his eyes to the pile as it moved around awkwardly before sitting up with a shock of white hair, matted with dried blood.

_Dear Maker,_

_I take back everything bad I’ve said to you in the past twenty-four hours._

_Please. Please. Please._

The blanket slid off the elf’s shoulders and Anders was rewarded with a muscular, tan back covered in swirling, silver tattoos.

 _I_ hate _you._

_No love,_

_Anders._

“Fffrremmrrreff!”

The elf’s head swivelled slowly around, unfocused green eyes blinking in Anders’ direction. The mage could see that Fenris had a head wound. The blood was dried and caked down the side of his face and neck. His lips were dry and cracked, and there was a cut under one of his eyes. Actually, now that Anders could see him a little better, he was pretty much covered in bruises. Of course, he probably would have put up a more difficult fight.

“Fffrremmrrreff...?”

The elf groaned again and rubbed his face against his shoulder, trying to get some of the blood out of his face since his hands were tied. He turned his head toward Anders again and squinted, then closed his eyes tightly and opened them again.

“Who is there?” Fenris asked, his voice dry and rough. He coughed and spit some blood onto the floor.

‘I’m right here, dumbass,’ is what Anders _tried_ to say, but it came out more like, “Mm rraaammbb eearr, bbmmaff.”

“Oi, knife-ears is awake!” Anders looked up to see that one of their handsome (read: toothless, dirty, unkempt, lice-filled) captors had come down to their little dungeon with a handful of things, one of which looked like food. Someone else came clattering down behind him, holding a crossbow. They walked over together, the taller one pointing the crossbow at Fenris.

“One move, knife-ear and this bolt’ll go through your pretty face,” the man growled. Their other jailer waited a moment, making sure Fenris was going to stay put before opening the cell.

“Alright magey-boy. You just stay still like a good boy,” he said, and pulled something out of his pocket. Something that looked sort of like a collar.

“Aammdrraaffdeff mlmmdee aaaffff!!!” Anders kicked his feet against the floor in frustration, which just made their jailer laugh. He reached forward and snapped a collar around Anders’ neck.

The mage stiffened in surprise as he felt his magic suddenly cut off. It was one of those stupid Tevinter thingies. Anders had heard about them, but never seen one. How a two-bit slaver got ahold of one, well that just makes this day all the better. Anders looked beseechingly toward the sky. The jailer then reached behind Anders and cut the ropes that bound his hands.

“There you go cutie, now don’t get all mussed and dirty alone with the elf. We’ve got plans for both of you,” he leered at them before getting up and leaving. The jailer locked the cage behind himself and make his way to the stairs. His friend with the crossbow followed, walking cautiously backward and keeping his eyes on the elf. Anders reached up and ripped the nasty tasting rag out of his mouth, throwing it through the bars.

“YEAH, WELL. COME IN HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE!” he yelled after them before reaching down to untie his feet, grumbling to himself.

“...Anders?”

“Don’t act surprised, you’re probably _loving_ this,” he snapped. Anders pressed his face against the cool bars for a moment, taking a deep breath before turning to untie Fenris’ hands. The elf rubbed his wrists when they were free.

“Thank you.” Fenris coughed again, and Anders frowned as he spat more blood. He looked around near the cage door where he remembered seeing the jailer leave a handful of things. It appears to be bread and a water skin. He crawled over and grabbed the water, holding it out for Fenris.

“Here, drink this.” Fenris reached out for the skin and Anders let go. It hit the floor with a _plop_. “Shit, Fenris!” Anders picked it up again as quickly as possible before they lost any of it.

“Sorry... I um... Everything is a little fuzzy still,” he replied, licking his lips again.

Anders sighed and scooted across the floor. “Let me see you,” he said, trying to examine Fenris in the dying light. “How does your head feel?” Anders pulled some of Fenris’ hair back, peeling it slowly away from his skin where the blood had fused it. The elf grimaced and pulled back.

“Do not be stupid, mage,” Fenris growled in reply, putting a hand up to his forehead. Anders pursed his lips and moved Fenris’ hand, looking at the wound again.

“I meant, what kind of pain? Throbbing? Stabbing? Where exactly does it hurt?” Anders retorted. He pressed the waterskin to Fenris’ chest, waiting until the elf took it and wet his dried lips. He winced again.

“I think there is a cut inside my mouth as well,” the elf grumbled. “It hurts everywhere, mage, it is still a stupid question.” He jerked his head away from Anders’ fingers again and then hissed in pain at the sudden movement. “Here.” He pointed at his temple. “Throbbing, stabbing. I cannot focus and I am seeing light spots.”

“Give me that water,” Anders said, frowning. He took the skin from Fenris and swallowed some of the water himself before putting it down and looking around the cell. “Shit, I threw the rag out...” Anders looked down at his shirt and sighed again. He pulled it off and then wet part of it with the waterskin and reached up to Fenris’ face. The elf moved again when the cold cloth touched his skin and then hiss in pain at the sudden movement. “It’s just water. I’ve got to clean this out or you’ll get an infection and that could be a lot worse. They put this collar things on me so I can’t just heal you. Don’t they use these in Tevinter for sex games or something equally depraved?”

“Too bad it did not silence you as well,” Fenris replied and grimaced as Anders began to clean, probably a little more roughly than was necessary.

“Oh yes, mock the mage. The nice man who is cleaning your wounds and making sure you get water. And is decidedly _not_ mocking you for getting your skinny, elf-ass captured by slavers.”

Fenris growled softly at Anders, who ignored him as the wound became more clear. It looked like he’d been hit pretty hard. Anders pushed the cut gently and heard the elf hiss again. “They may have cracked your skull. How _did_ you get caught, anyway?”

“How did _you_?”

“I took a ship out of Rivain headed for Ferelden, they stopped here and decided all the passengers were now cargo.” Anders worked the wet shirt down the side of Fenris’ face, checking to see if there were more cuts or wounds under the dried blood. “I was just so pretty they felt the need to chuck me down here where the special people are.” Anders grinned a little and turned Fenris’ chin so he could look him in the eyes. “And I may have possibly set a large number of them on fire.”

Fenris snorted and moved his head a little away from Anders, as if he were trying to focus on him.

“Can you see me?”

“I... can see shapes. Shadows.”

“Hrm. Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“Just bruised.”

“Ok. I guess that’s all I can really do right now then. Sorry.” His professional pride gnawed at him a little, leaving that wound open, but there was really nothing he could do about it until he got the damned collar off. “Now where were you heading and how did they get you?”

“Antiva. Ship was hijacked,” Fenris replied and leaned back against the bars, closing his eyes.

“Well aren’t we lucky then?” Anders peered at his shirt in the dim light and sighed. It was pretty wet with water and blood. He wasn’t particularly keen about putting it back on. “You have a blanket.” Anders tugged at the blanket still half wrapped around the elf’s legs and then settled as close as he dared and as far as the cage would allow him so they could share it.

“I think you are very lucky,” Fenris replied, and coughed again. “They obviously have not realised that they have captured the most wanted man in Thedas.”

“Don’t go advertising that, if you please. Thanks.” Fenris made a _pfaugh_ noise.

“I became one of your accomplices the moment I followed Hawke to the Tower to protect the mages. I do not particularly feel like advertising anything.”

Anders pursed his lips and turned away. “Yes... well... thanks for that.”

“I did not do it for you.”

“I didn’t imagine you did, what with your advocating for my death and all.” He felt Fenris shrug.

“You wanted to die.”

_Dear Maker,_

_Why me?_

_No love,_

_Anders_


	3. Part Two

_Dear Maker,_

_Please blot out the sun. It is giving me a headache._

_No love,_

_Anders_

He closed his eyes again tightly and pressed his face into his pillow. Anders groaned. “Someone tell the urchins outside to go play in the harbor with the sharks.”

“Please remove your face from my shoulder, mage.”

Anders sat up, startled for a moment. That was Fenris and he definitely didn’t remember getting drunk, and he would have had to be _very_ drunk to wake up next to Fenris.

“Oh. Slavers. Yeah.” Anders rubbed his eyes and looked around the room again. The other cells were still empty. “How is your head?”

“Still painful.”

“Sight?”

“Shapes and shadows.”

Anders frowned and looked over Fenris’ head wound again in the light. It was red and swollen, but appeared to have scabbed over, which was better than leaking Fenris’ brains all over the cell. He touched it gently, probing the skin around the wound. Anders winced when Fenris shied from his touch again.

“Sorry... It looks better now that it’s clean, but I couldn’t see it very well in the dark yesterday.” Anders crawled across the floor to the cell door and picked up the bread that had been left for them last night. It was stale and crumbling, but better than nothing. He broke it in half and pressed part of it into the elf’s hands, not letting go until he was sure Fenris had a grip on it. “It’s just stale bread, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“ _Hn._ ” Anders shoved some of the crumbling dough into his mouth and looked the elf over a little more. Fenris’ chest was still bruised and the mage instinctively reached forward and probed some of the darker bruises. “Venhedis!”

“Shit, sorry. I think one or two of those are cracked.”

“You could have warned me,” Fenris growled. He coughed again with a grimace. Obviously it was painful. Anders rolled his eyes and went back to the cell door, inspecting the lock.

“Whiner.”

“Abomination.”

“Oh so original,” Anders retorted. “Andraste’s tits, if I just had a wire or something I could pick right through this. It’s pathetic how easy this could be. I’d be insulted if I wasn’t so keen to get us out.”

“Us?”

“Of course. I’m not leaving you here, especially like that. I may hate your guts, but I’m not _that_ much of an abomination.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Oh shut up.”

Anders sighed and scratched at the collar around his neck uncomfortably. “Could you, I don’t know, do your glowy thing and get through the bars?”

“Probably, but I don’t see how it would do us any good since I cannot _see_ anything.”

“I don’t see _you_ offering any better ideas,” the blond snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. They needed to get out of here, preferably before their captors realised who they had locked up down here. “Okay. So let’s think about this. We’re in Alamar. Which is full of Raiders for the most part. If we can get some clothes, we might be able to blend in on the streets and maybe stow away somewhere. And get this stupid collar off so I can fix you. We have... um... water. And... um... water. Shit.”

“Our captors do not seem to have noticed my condition,” Fenris pointed out.

“So... we could surprise them?”

“I do not know how far we would get, we have no awareness of what is upstairs.”

“There was a hall, lots of doors... It was mostly closed off. I think if we’re stealthy, we could get out without anyone noticing.”

“What about once we’re outside?”

“We can worry about that when we’re there,” Anders replied, waving his hand dismissively. He could hear Fenris make an unsure noise. “What’s wrong, Fen-fen? Don’t like flying by the seat of your pants?” Anders could see Fenris’ face flush in anger out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his mouth shut, his unfocused eyes darting toward the stairs. The mage followed Fenris’ example, frowning. After a moment, he could hear the sound of feet on boards coming toward them. 

“It’s now or never, Broody.” Their jailer had returned with this friend holding the crossbow.

“Hello darlings, and how are we today?” The jailer leered again and unlocked the cell door. “Come on out blondie.” He reached in and grabbed Anders’ arm, dragging him out of the cell. Anders stumbled a little, his legs cramped from sitting in the cage for hours. He leaned against the wall for a moment, flinching as the jailer reached in and pulled Fenris (a little more careful - he was definitely more afraid of the elf) from the cell as well. Anders waited until Fenris was completely clear of the cell before putting his ‘plan’ into action.

“Maker’s breath!” he shouted, and ‘tripped’ over an invisible bump on the floor, throwing himself into the raider holding the crossbow. The two of them toppled to the floor and the crossbow went flying, the bolt triggering. By some pure stroke of luck (which was probably Fenris’, because Maker knows Anders had none), it went right into the jailer's back. Fenris shoved his shoulder into the jailer’s stomach, knocking him backward. Anders kneed the man under him in the groin before punching him as hard as he could. 

“Are they dead?” Fenris asked, stumbling a little as he got his own feet under himself again.

“Well, yours is. Mine is just unconscious.” Anders sat up and started pulling the boots and shirt off of the unconscious raider. “Flaming balls, I miss my boots,” the mage whined, pulling the shirt over his head and working the boots onto his own feet. The shirt was too big and the boots were a little tight, but it was the best they could do right now. He pulled the unconscious man into the cell they’d just vacated and shut the door. “Shit, do you think either of them has the key to this damn collar?” He quickly searched the pockets of their jailer and pulled a set of keys out of his pants. “Here, put this on.” Anders handed the jailer’s coat to Fenris. “It’s got a hole in the back and there might be some blood, but it’s better than nothing.”

Fenris carefully pulled the coat on, wincing with almost every move of his arms. “The keys?”

“None of them are small enough. Maker’s balls. I need to get this thing off.” Anders stood up and took Fenris’ elbow, a little more roughly than he meant to. The elf stumbled and made a pained noise. “Sorry! Sorry.” 

Anders looked up the stairs and led Fenris slowly up them. They were going slower than he liked, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, expecting someone else to catch them at any moment. “There’s one more stair,” the mage whispered, helping Fenris, who was trailing his hand along the wall. “Okay, we’re in a long hallway, there are three doors and... one at the end, that looks like the way out.”

“It had better be,” Fenris muttered. Anders led Fenris down the hall, trying not to rush the wounded elf, but his well-honed escape instincts were forcing adrenaline through his body. It was making him twitchy.

After what seemed like a week, they reached the door at the end of the hall, which led out into an alley. Not one door had opened behind them. It was almost as if... someone was intervening to assist in their escape.

_Dear Maker,_

_….Nevermind. I don’t want to screw this up by opening my mouth._

_Anders._

“This way,” Anders led Fenris down the alley, toward something that looked brightly lit. He found himself on the edge of a busy street. “All right. Busy street. Lots of people. Time to get lost in a crowd.” He turned around and grin at Fenris, amazed that they’d actually managed to escape. The elf looked even worse in the direct sunlight than he had in the cell. Anders frowned and took Fenris by the arm carefully. “Pretend you’re hungover.”

“I do not think that will be difficult,” Fenris replied, closing his eyes tightly. Anders shuffled with him down the street, trying his best to look like he just woke up in a cold cellar after a night of heavy drinking.

“My feet are _killing_ me,” Anders whined under his breath. “Ok, so docks ahead. Lots of taverns. Is there any money in that coat of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Fenris groaned. Anders stuck his hand into one of Fenris’ pockets, then the other. He found a few silvers and pulled them out.

“This might get us a room,” Anders said, dropping the coins into his trouser pocket and steering Fenris gently toward the nearest rowdy tavern. The rowdier the better. He pushed the door open and found a taproom full of raiders and wenches. Just the sort of place that he would have enjoyed years ago. He could tell that the noise was not doing anything for Fenris’ head though. “Stay here.”

Anders left Fenris leaning against the wall by the door and made his way to the bar. He dropped the coins onto the counter and picked up a key to a room in the back. Anders manoeuvered the wounded elf toward the back, settling him onto the small cot and locking the door behind them. He dropped himself into a chair next to the cot and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well. At least we got out.”

He heard Fenris chuckle softly, but it turned into a fit of coughing again and the elf groaned. Anders frowned and sighed, rubbing his face. “I’ll have to go steal some bandages and a health potion if I can.”

“You should wait.”

“Of course. I’m not stupid. I have escaped from the Circle twelve times you know.”

“I thought it was seven times?”

“...You were actually listening?” Anders heard the elf snort. “Anyway. I’ll wait till later tonight. If they even bother to look for us, they’ll probably give up by the time darkness falls.”

“I think... I’m going to sleep now,” Fenris said, his eyes closing. Anders sighed, watching Fenris slowly doze off. He tried to list off the things they’d need in his head, but he was never very good at planning. The only thing he’d ever planned in advance was what happened to the Chantry in Kirkwall, and that had been mostly with Justice’s help. He was sure the elf would probably be able to come up with a good plan, but if the elf were actually mobile right now, Anders probably would have been left on a street corner to get picked up by the first person to recognise his face. Which reminded him.

He pulled his the leather tie out of his hair and rubbed his fuzzy chin. A beard would probably be a good idea.

_Dear Maker,_

_If you get me out of this, I promise, I will never blow up another Chantry for as long as I live._

_Your favourite, annoying mage,_

_Anders._


	4. Part Three

_Dear Maker,_

_...Um... Thanks for not letting me get caught stealing?_

_Anders._

He entered the room carrying a candle and set it down on the stand next to the cot before turning and locking the door again. The last thing they needed was to be disturbed. Anders tossed the clothes he had over his arm onto the chair and started pulling things out of the pockets of the duster he’d found on a corpse in the gutter. Said corpse had boots that fit him, so he had taken some liberties with those as well. It wasn’t as if the guy was going to miss them. Anders supposed that was a plus of being stranded in a town of raiders, there was little law and one didn’t allow morals and virtues to get in the way of survival.

Fenris was breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat over his face and chest as Anders moved over to him, holding the thin vial he’d managed to procure. Anders set the vial down on the night table with the candle with a few rolls of bandages. “Broody. I’m going to wrap your ribs, so they don’t heal like that. I think they may just be fractured, since you haven’t been coughing more blood and the bruises are fading a little, which is good. Broken is bad. This will probably hurt a bit.”

“I’m sure I’ve been through worse,” Fenris replied wryly. Anders chuckled at that, running a curious finger over one of the tattoos on Fenris' chest. It tingled. Like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. He wondered briefly what it would feel like if he had his magic back. He couldn’t really remember ever physically touching Fenris when they were in Kirkwall, not without cloth in the way or in the heat of battle.

He helped the elf sit up and began to wrap the bandages snugly around Fenris’ torso, trying to work as fast as he could. He could hear the elf’s breathing hitch every time he tightened the cloth strips to make sure they wouldn’t come loose before tying them off. Anders laid Fenris back against the cot again and sat down on the edge. He then reached forward, lifting the elf’s head a little. 

“Fenris, it’s a healing potion. It won’t fix everything, but it may help with the pain and the fever,” he said, holding the mouth of the vial against Fenris’ lips. The elf swallowed the thick liquid with only a minimal amount of coughing. Anders waited a moment, watching Fenris closely. The elf’s breathing seemed to come more easily and Anders could see the small cut under Fenris’ eye close itself. Anders didn’t like relying on the potions, they were hit and miss at best, you never knew what they were going to heal and what they were going to leave bleeding and damaged. He frowned and reached up, touching the wound on Fenris’ temple gently, feeling if the potion did anything to alleviate that pain.

“That feels... better,” Fenris said, closing his eyes.

“Well you look a little better at least,” Anders conceded. “Get some rest, perhaps your eyesight will return in the morning and we can figure out how to get out of here.” The blond stood up and stretched, hoping perhaps he could find some more coins hiding in the pockets of the clothes he’d pilfered for them.

“Why are you helping me?”

Anders turned around and pushed his hair out of his face. “What?”

“We dislike each other. Why are you helping me?” Fenris had opened his eyes, which was somewhat unnerving since he was looking in Anders’ direction, but he still couldn’t see anything. Anders had the distinct feeling that Fenris was looking _through_ him rather than _at_ him.

“I’m a healer and I don’t like leaving people sitting around in cages in pain and helpless,” he replied airily and turned back to the clothes, trying to decide what would fit Fenris and what would fit him.

“Is that really your reasoning?” Fenris sounded surprised.

“Oh come on, Broody-”

“Stop calling me that. I do _not_ brood, as I have told the damned dwarf hundreds of times.”

“Fine. ELF,” Fenris made a _tch_ noise, “you’ve been in my clinic, you’ve seen what I did on a daily basis for seven years. I will not leave people in pain if I can do something to fix it.”

“Yet you destroyed a Chantry and started a war in which thousands of people will die and are dying in across Thedas even now.”

Anders winced. “That... was,” he ran another hand through his long locks, “different.”

“How? Because the demon told you to do it?”

“Justice did not _tell_ me to do anything,” Anders snapped. He threw a shirt at Fenris, which hit the elf in the face. “Put that on since you’re not going to sleep like you were told.”

“I don’t have to take orders from you,” Fenris retorted, but pulled the shirt carefully over his head anyway.

“So you still profess to hate mages, even though you helped the ones in Kirkwall?” Anders asked, with only a hint of malice.

“I do not hate mages. I fear what they can do and become,” Fenris replied calmly. 

“Oh, says the elf that gave in to a Pride demon in the Fade,” Anders quipped, glaring over at the blind elf. He saw Fenris grimace and then purse his lips.

“...Yes, you are correct in that. One need not be a mage to fall prey to a demon,” he replied quietly. Anders raised his eyebrows.

“Say that again?”

“You heard me. I will not repeat myself.” The mage grinned. Score one for mages, zero for annoying elves. Fenris cleared his throat and changed the subject. “How long before my eyesight returns?” Anders was glad Fenris couldn’t see his expression.

“Truthfully.... I don’t know if it will,” Anders began, and hurried to continued when he saw Fenris’ eyes grow wide and the look of fear that passed over the elf’s usually placid face. “If I can get this collar off, I should be able to fix them, provided it’s very soon. Within the next two days. If I can’t get it off... well... I...” Anders bit his lip and suddenly felt bad for his earlier comments as he saw the warrior visibly deflate as the realisation came upon him that he might be stuck like this permanently. “That’s not to say it won’t come back on its own!” Anders added, trying to give the silver-haired elf some sort of comfort.

“I... see.” Fenris leaned back in the cot and closed his eyes. Anders watched as the elf tried to roll onto his side so that his back was to the mage, but it was too painful and he had to settle on his back again. Anders could see see the emotion clearly on the elf’s face before he tried to hide it with an arm, obviously not wanting the mage to know how upset he was.

_Dear Maker,_

_I know I’ve been a dick to you since... well... since forever, but if you could just listen this once, I’d really appreciate it. You see, there’s this stupid elf that I fight with all the time, and drives me insane, but he helped the mages, and he never turned my ass in to the Templars despite numerous reasons to do so, so anyway I’d really appreciate it if you’d... I just... a key for this collar so I can fix his eyes._

_Um... Please?_

_Your favourite, somewhat contrite and feeling like an ass mage,_

_Anders._


	5. Part Four

“We have to go. _Now_.” Anders came into the room and closed the door tightly behind him. He began to pace, picking up everything they had laying around, stuffing it into the pockets of his duster. “Fenris. Get up. We have to go.” Anders walked over to the cot and shook Fenris’ shoulder gently. The elf had not left the cot since he’d been laid in it two evenings before. In fact, he’d barely spoke, ate, or did anything at all, and mostly just lay there. Anders had spent most of the previous day trying to find some way to get the damned collar off without making it too obvious that he was wearing it. The thing just screamed ‘I’M A MAGE. COME KILL/ARREST/HARASS/ATTACK ME!’ Which was not something he really wanted anyone to know, especially now.

“Fenris. Up. _Now_ ,” Anders pulled on the elf’s arm, making him sit up. “The bartender has raised our rent. He _knows_ that we’re hiding, and while he might not exactly know who we are and what we’re hiding from, he smells a profit and we need to get out before some undesirables show up to escort us out.” Fenris sat on the edge of the cot while Anders dressed him in a coat like a rag doll. 

“Boots,” Fenris said, which made Anders pause a moment. The elf was still looking listlessly at the floor and letting Anders tug and pull him around like a child. His ribs still had to hurt, but he didn’t seem to care anymore. Then he heard it. Boots. Stomping. Outside their door. _Shiiiiiit._ Anders let go of Fenris and ran over, locking the door quickly and throwing the key into the fireplace.

“Window. Now. Go.” Anders pulled Fenris off of the cot and over to the one window in the room. It was boarded over - probably too many people skipping out of paying - and he had no fireballs. This day was just getting better. He leaned Fenris against the wall. 

“Stay. Good elf.” Anders couldn’t help but reach out and mess with the elf’s hair. He looked around the room and finally decided on the chair. It was heavy, right? The boots outside the door had stopped and were knocking now. Politely. Anders picked up the chair and threw it as hard as he could at the boards covering the window.

_Please Maker, Please Maker, ohpleaseohpleaseohplease..._

The chair crashed through the looser boards near the bottom, leaving just enough room for them to crawl through.

“Thank you, Maker!” Anders cheered and stuck his head through the hole. It was only about three feet from the ground, and they were definitely attracting attention outside on the street. “Fenris-” He turned again, just as the knocking turned to pounding and shouting. Anders grabbed the elf and pulled him to the window, putting Fenris’ hands on the top edge so he could feel the space. “Go through. The ground is just on the other side, you just throw your leg over and you’ll touch, okay?”

“You can just leave me, mage. It’s pointless.”

“No it’s not and no I’m not. Now get your elf ass through that hole or I’m going to push you through it,” Anders ordered, trying very hard to hide the panic in his voice as the pounding started to sound like chopping and splintering. If Fenris could see, Anders would have been trying to stare him down. The elf’s ears twitched toward the noise from the door and he finally pulled himself carefully through the hole in the window.

Anders let out the breath he was holding and followed.

When they were on the street, Anders bent down and helped Fenris up again, the distance from the window edge to the ground being a little too far for the shorter elf. Anders tried very hard not to rush the wounded elf, but as soon as he was standing again, the mage pulled him down the street as fast as his legs would carry him without Fenris falling over.

“Fasterfasterfasterturnturnturnleftstraightrightleftfastergogogogogogogo!”

When he was too tired to run anymore, Anders stumbled to a stop. He was mildly surprised that Fenris had managed to keep up, and hadn’t ripped his hand from Anders’ grip. Leaning against a wall, he gasped for breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Are you... okay?” he asked, looking at Fenris, who was also breathing heavily, his eyes closed.

“The light hurts,” Fenris said eventually. The white-haired elf reached toward Anders. He seemed to know in the general area that the mage was standing, probably from how loudly he was panting. Fenris took a tentative step forward and Anders saw the relief on his face when his fingers found the mage’s coat. The elf frowned again though, and let his fingers wander up the side of Anders’ neck, pausing at the metal collar. The elf let his fingers slip lazily over the metal, gauging it. Anders swallowed and tried to stay still. He knew Fenris just wanted to be sure, to give himself a mental picture, but those _fingers_. Finally they moved to his jaw, which was much fuzzier than it had been the last time Fenris had actually seen him. “That _is_ you isn’t it?” The elf sounded a little worried.

“Yes, it’s me,” Anders said and moved Fenris’ fingers to his nose. “You can’t mistake that giant thing for anyone else.” He grinned and saw a flicker of amusement cross the elf’s lips as well.

“You are growing a beard?”

“Well, I’m sure everyone will be out looking for a devilishly handsome mage who can’t decide if he wants a beard or not, so I figured a beard would hide me better than no beard or half a beard.” Fenris snorted softly and trailed his fingers back to Anders’ shoulder. Anders couldn’t help but admire the long, slender digits, and the way they slid over his face tickled a little.

“I believe that the time has come for us to leave Alamar?”

“Yes, I believe that is a very good suggestion!” Anders said, maybe a little too cheerfully. He turned and waited a moment while Fenris adjusted his distance to make it easier to follow Anders, his hand remaining on the mage’s shoulder. 

“Now, if I remember my geography from when I was a little magelet, I believe this island is shaped like a penis and-” Fenris snorted. “Don’t laugh, it’s true! Anyway, Alamar is near the base of the shaft so to speak. There is meadowish-prairish lands to the south and then a small bit of ocean and we’d end up on the coast of Ferelden kind of east of Amaranthine and northwest of Denerim. I think it’s kinda mountainous there, and will definitely be mountainous in the direction of Denerim, so our best bet is probably to go along the coast to the west and into the area around Amaranthine.”

“You seem to have it all figured out,” Fenris said, though Anders could detect a hint of something.

“What?”

“What will we eat?”

“Um... Don’t ask stupid questions,” Anders huffed, pursing his lips as he led Fenris through the side alleys slowly, directing himself as best south as he could.

“And a boat?”

“The Maker will provide.”

“I see.”

“Oh shut up.”

_Dear Maker,_

_Please provide or else I may have to kill the elf for food and swim to Ferelden._

_Your very irritated punching bag,_

_Anders_


	6. Part Five

The sun was setting behind them.

That wasn’t right.

Anders stopped and scratched his jaw. He hated beards, they itched. If the sun was behind them, then that meant they were going east, not south. Whatever, he was a mage, not a navigator. Anders started walking again, but he could feel Fenris’ hand on his shoulder growing heavier as the elf put more and more weight on him. Fenris would never complain, at least, not to Anders, but they had gone a long way that day and the elf was still only at half strength.

“There’s a hill ahead. We can camp on the other side, out of the wind,” Anders told Fenris, hoping that he was right. He had a terrible tendency to think the wind was coming one way and then overnight it would trick him and move around the other way. 

The elf did not reply, he only continued to follow. In silence. Which worried Anders a little; they’d tripped a few times, because Anders wasn’t watching where his feet were stepping and then Fenris, not seeing the rock Anders just stepped over would hit it, but nothing. Anders even walked the elf into a rock on purpose at one point just to see if he’d get anything. Nothing. Not a ‘hmph’, or ‘pfaugh’, or ‘tsk’, or ‘tch’. Not even a ‘hn’ passed those lips. When they’d reached the leeward side of the hill, Anders stopped and took Fenris’ hand from his shoulder. The mage looked around, making sure there wasn’t anything sharp for the elf to hurt himself on.

“Sit,” he told Fenris, and helped the elf down. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Anders could hear a hint of bitterness in the elf’s voice, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t directed at him for once. Anders sighed and started going through his pockets. Their journey out of the city hadn’t been completely unfruitful, as Anders was quite adept at sleight of hand and they’d moved south, well... south-east apparently; with pockets full of supplies. Anders had pickpocketed a passed out drunk (those were the best kind) and managed to procure a dagger and some more coins, with which he’d gotten more bandages, water, and some food (which of course he also stole more of while they were counting his coins).

“I don’t think I can start a fire without magic,” he said, feeling somewhat amused. Anders pulled an apple out of his coat pocket and put it carefully in Fenris’ hands. “We’ll probably reach the coastline sometime tomorrow. We can start figuring out how to get across to Ferelden then.” He watched Fenris, waiting for the elf to take a bite of the apple.

“It’s an apple,” he encouraged. “You eat it.” Fenris sighed and brought the apple to his lips, but didn’t take a bite, his hands dropping back to his lap again. “Is the light still hurting your eyes? The sun is almost all the way down. I think I can make something...” Anders started to fidget around with the bandages in his pockets. Maybe a blindfold would help keep the sunlight out, it had to be hard trying to keep your eyelids closed all the time when you weren’t sleepy.

“I’m fine,” Fenris said, the sharpness unmistakable now.

“Then eat and stop moping.”

“I am not moping.”

Anders rubbed his face and sighed again, laying back on the grass. “Look, I know it’s been two days and I still haven’t gotten this damn collar off. Trust me, I’m just as upset as you are.”

“I doubt that.” Anders turned his head and looked at Fenris. The words were soft, as if he were speaking to himself rather than to Anders, there was no anger in the elf’s voice, but the mage felt his heart jump a little in sympathy. 

Truthfully, he’d be depressed in Fenris’ place too, in fact the lack of magic for two days was making him feel manic. He couldn’t do the simplest things like start a fire, hunt a rabbit, or even walk a long distance in a straight line. He had no idea how to even begin to do those things without magic. The worst rub was that he was being followed by someone he normally couldn’t stand. Someone who was in pain, and wounded; someone who _needed_ his magic. 

“...Try to eat, Fenris. Your body needs the strength.”

“I am not hungry,” the elf replied, rolling the apple in his hands idly.

“Please? For me?”

Fenris turned his head slightly and Anders could see his profile in the dying sunlight. He really was very handsome when he wasn’t scowling. The elf’s lips twitched slightly and he raised the apple, taking a bite.


	7. Part Six

Anders didn’t remember falling asleep. 

Obviously he had, because here he was waking up. Now why had he woken up was the question. Anders blinked a few times, focusing. Fenris was leaning over him, the elf’s brow was furrowed and Anders realised it had been Fenris who had woken him.

“Are you alright?” the elf asked softly. His hand was on Anders’ chest and Anders turned his head to see the grass next to him was flat indicating the elf had been sleeping very close to him.

“Fine. Why did you wake me, and _why_ are your legs touching mine?” The blond man sat up, carefully so he wouldn’t hit his head against Fenris’.

“You were thrashing. And making noise,” Fenris responded. Anders noted that he ignored the question about their legs.

“Oh that. It happens. I don’t even notice it anymore. Now why were your legs touching mine. Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding the question.”

The elf looked annoyed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anders. I’m blind.”

“No, really? I hadn’t realised.”

Fenris pursed his lips in the dark, and Anders was somewhat surprised that he could actually _see_ the elf. His hair looked silver in the moonlight, matching the splash of silver that ran down his throat into the shirt Anders had put him in. It was rather pretty, actually. He found his fingers twitching, wanting to touch the elf’s hair, just to see if it was real or a trick of the light. Fenris seemed to be struggling with how to phrase his next sentence.

“ _Tch_. My hearing is acute, but I’ve never had to _really_ rely on it before. It is... difficult to distinguish noises now that I must depend upon my other senses. I...” He faltered a little and brought his hand down to his lap, his fingers toying with the edge of his coat. “I feel uncomfortable not knowing exactly where you are.”

“...Oh.” Anders stared for a moment, feeling a little stupid for not having thought of that himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a dry voice mentioned something about thinking with his dick instead of his head, but he ignored it. “Um... so... Sorry I woke you.”

“I am not tired any longer.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty wide awake now too.” Anders ran a hand through his hair again and looked around, not sure what to do. It was still too dark to try and travel any further without magic to light the way. The silence stretched out between them and it was starting to make Anders twitch. “It’s times like this that I miss Hawke.”

“Why is that?” Fenris also seemed somewhat relieved that Anders had said something.

“Because he would make some sort of inappropriate joke and then we wouldn’t be awkwardly trying to figure out what to say to each other in the middle of the night since it’s too dark to go anywhere.”

“Is that all that is stopping you?” Fenris put his hands on the ground and pushed himself up unsteadily. Anders followed suit, just managing to catch the elf before he teetered over. “I can stand!” Fenris pushed himself out of Anders’ arms a little too hard and began to fall again. Anders reached out and grabbed Fenris’ shoulders, righting him once more.

“Your balance is messed up. It’s not your fault,” Anders said, and let go of Fenris again when he was sure the elf wouldn’t fall over. He had felt the elf trembling under his hands, he’d seen Fenris tremble like that before. Usually when he was angry. After a moment the elf seemed to calm down and put his hand out, finding Anders’ face. The mage could see him purse his lips again before moving his hand down to Anders’ shoulder. “So... where are we going?”

“To the coastline,” Fenris replied, and Anders squinted, suddenly blind himself, as Fenris’ markings flared. When the flash spots in his eyes disappeared he saw that Fenris was glowing. He could see the lines dimly through the shirt he was wearing, and Anders’ eyes trailed down, curiously following the lines. He could see them through almost everything. It was, actually, rather beautiful when Fenris wasn’t using it to rip someone in half. “...Can you see? Is it bright enough?”

Anders blinked and realised he’d been staring. The lines followed all the elf’s musculature and Anders had never really gotten a good look at them before. He felt his cheeks heat up slightly as he realised he was attracted to Fenris. When his mouth was closed.

“Yes, it’s fine. I didn’t realise you could use it for that.” Anders turned around so Fenris was behind him and peered into the darkness, the bluish light actually casting much further than a torch or mage light would have. “This way.”

They walked in silence for the rest of the night, which bothered Anders. Usually he had someone to talk to. Justice, Hawke, Isabela, Varric, _someone_ , but he didn’t know what to say to Fenris without just... arguing, and he didn’t really want to argue. So his brain ran on its own, going over just exactly what they were not going to do when they go to the coastline and were stuck looking at the Ferelden mainland across the water. As long as he wasn’t thinking about the curve of those silver lines across the warrior behind him. 

_Splash, splash_

Anders looked down and found he was standing in the surf. He hadn’t even noticed that the ocean had been getting louder. Oops.

“Um. We’re here.”

“I noticed that. I was wondering when you would,” Fenris responded, a little blandly.

“How did you know!?”

“Sand?” Anders looked down and realised that Fenris would have felt the difference in the ground since he didn’t wear shoes.

“Oh. Well. Yes. I was just checking.”

“Now what brilliant plan do you have to get us across the water?” Fenris asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Anders twitched.

“Shut up and let me think, okay?” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before looking around them. It was a pretty empty beach as far as he could see each way. There weren’t any boats in the water within sight either. If there had been, he would have been a little worried anyway, they were probably raiders.

“Well?”

“The sun is coming up.”

“Is that part of the plan?” Anders pulled away from the elf, turning around and waving his hands.

“What do you want from me, Fenris!? I got us away from the slavers, out of the inn, and out of the damn city. I can’t magic us away - my magic has been taken from me, just like your eyes have been taken from you!” He wrapped his arms around himself and glared at Fenris.

“I can’t remember what it was like to _not_ have magic so I can barely take care of _myself_ let alone the snide blind elf. I can’t feel Justice, which is scary - I can’t even do something as simple as create a mage light! It’s like a part of me is missing! You have _no idea_ how terrifying that is! I can’t defend myself at all. I’m not a warrior or rogue. I can’t use a bow or a sword, I can’t stow away on a ship with a blind elf tagging along; I can’t even sell my services to a crew to get my ass off this island! I am just as bloody stuck as you are and your spiteful remarks are _not helping_!” Anders clenched his fists as his arms dropped to his sides, shaking with anger and voice rising with each breath.

“A part of _you_ is missing?” Fenris snarled, stepping forward and tripping. He fell against Anders’ chest before pushing the mage away, sending Anders flying into the water, his strength being much greater with his markings lit. “I cannot _see_ mage. I cannot defend myself, I must rely on _you_ to defend me. I cannot walk without tripping, I cannot stand without falling; I cannot do anything!”

Anders spluttered and pulled himself out of the water. Now he was angry, wet, helpless, and feeling very slightly guilty because the elf was right. Great. He sloshed his way out of the surf. Anders had not felt this furious in a long time, not without Justice taking control. He wasn’t even sure what to do with himself. The mage looked down at his hands, which were still shaking.

Finally, he turned away from Fenris, not saying a word, and started to walk down the beach. Screw this. He didn’t have to put up with any of it. He didn’t have to help the damn elf. He didn’t owe the elf _anything_.

_Dear Maker,_

_If you really loved me, you would strike that fucker with lightning._

_I’m really pissed,_

_Anders._


	8. Part Seven

The sun was in his eyes.

It was coming up slowly over the eastern bit of ocean and reflecting off the water in just such a way as to make it very hard to see. Anders wondered briefly if it was hurting Fenris’ eyes, and then reminded himself that he didn’t care about Fenris anymore because he was a stupid, ungrateful, self-absorbed wretch.

Anders had been trudging through the dunes for a while now. Above him the seagulls were flying out for their breakfast, making lots of noise and reminding him that he missed his feathers. The mage shrugged his shoulders in the duster that he wore and sighed. He supposed he really needed a new coat and new boots anyway, but the old ones had been very comfortable and worn in all the right places.

Anders topped the next dune and stopped, taking a breather and looking around. He shielded his eyes from the glare with his hand and saw at the bottom of the dune was a cabin. And a boat. An honest to Maker boat. He stared at it for a moment, shocked. It wasn’t a big boat, it looked like a little fisherman’s boat, but had a sail and nets and... an old man wandering around it.

He practically slide down the dune, racing toward the boat and the old man, hoping to the Maker that there were no raiders about and this was not a trick of the light or a mirage or a desire demon.

“Hey! Heeeey!”

The old man stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Anders as he approached. The mage slid to a stop and put his hands on his knees while he tried to catch his breath.

“Hello there young man,” the fisherman said, his hand resting gently on a dagger at his belt. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Anders swallowed and took a few more breaths before replying. He put his hands up to show the fisherman he was harmless. “Sorry... We... we escaped from the slavers and are... trying to find a way... off the island...” He began, pushing some of his sweaty bangs out of his face and straightening up. He was too old to be running around like this.

“We?” The old man looked behind Anders, and seeing no one, frowned, taking a step back. Anders sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He hated having his hair down, it got all sweaty and gross.

“I’m not crazy. Well. No more than usual. He’s back there, I just... He’s on the other side of the dunes,” Anders tried to explain, realising that he’d referred to the elf that he was currently furious with. “I have some silver, not a lot. Please, could you take us across to the mainland?”

The old man seemed to consider Anders for a moment, looking the mage up and down, his eyes fell to the collar, only half hidden, around Anders’ neck. Anders swallowed again and adjusted his coat, hoping to hide it better, his eyes finding that the man’s feet were suddenly very interesting.

“Bring your friend over and we’ll talk about it. But hurry,” the fisherman looked up at the sky and over at the water. “The tide will be here in a few hours and I’m leaving then, passengers or not.”

Anders nodded, thanked the man profusely and started back the way he had come as fast as his old, creaky knees would let him.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit._

He would not have to be doing this if the elf hadn’t been such a bastard. They could have been together and not wasting time backtracking to find the damn bastard elf. Anders wasn’t even sure how long he’d been walking or how far he’d gone. He did remember hearing Fenris call his name at least once. Anders reached the top of the dune he’d just slid down and stared for a moment. He’d come quite a ways. Well fuck. He tumbled down the other side of the dune, making his way toward the surf. He could run more easily near the water, and run he was going to have to.

By the time he’d reached the spot he’d left Fenris in, his lungs were burning, and he was soaked in sweat. The sun was slightly higher now and he knew that the tide would be coming in soon. Anders looked around, seeing where his footprints in the sand led away toward the boat and he could see where he and Fenris had come up to the water.

“Fenris?” he called, looking around. He couldn’t see any footprints leading away, and that worried him. “Fenris!” Anders started to walk down the shore a little further, hoping the elf had not gotten picked up by anything, or... He looked out to sea; Fenris hadn’t been _that_ stupid, had he? “FENRIS. ANSWER ME OR I SWEAR TO THE MAKER I WILL TELL THE WORLD ABOUT YOUR CRUSH ON HAWKE!”

“Anders?”

Anders turned toward the voice and sighed in relief. Fenris was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest in a small alcove of rocks, out of the early spring wind. Anders jogged over to him and grabbed the elf’s hands, pulling him sharply to his feet.

“I found a boat, he’s leaving when the tide comes in and it’s a little far, so we have to go _now_ ,” Anders explained quickly, starting to pull Fenris toward the water again.

“You left me.”

Anders could hear the hurt in the elf’s voice and winced.

“You pissed me off.” Anders felt Fenris pull his arm.

“Stop.”

“We don’t have a lot of time Fenris!” Anders did not want to get into another argument with the elf. Fenris seemed insistent though, so the mage stopped for a moment and turned around. “Okay, fine, what? You want to yell at me? Hit me?” Anders’ annoyance faded when he got a better look at Fenris. The elf’s eyes were a little red and swollen. “...Were you... crying?”

“No!” Fenris rubbed his face. “Just...” He took a step forward, his hand trailing up Anders’ arm. “I... apologise. You have been helping me when you didn’t need to. Please... Just don’t leave me alone again.” The last part was mumbled a little, and the elf’s fingers dug into Anders’ duster. Well, now he felt like a dick. Especially for asking the Maker to hit Fenris with lightning.

“Um... well... okay. I’m sorry too. I... yeah.” This was awkward. “Let’s go before the guy leaves without us.”

“Yes,” Fenris nodded and did his best to keep up as Anders jogged back the way he’d come.

_Dear Maker,_

_Pleasepleasepleaseplease hold back the tide for just long enough for us to get there. PLEASE._

_Oh, and um... sorry about Fenris, don’t strike him with lightning. At least not while I’m within range._

_Thanks for the boat,_

_Anders._


	9. Part Eight

“There.” Anders finished tying off the strips of cloth and leaned back, admiring his work. “Does that make it a little better?” Fenris’ fingers reached up and touched the cloth gently, making sure it was snug. It was more obvious that the elf was blind now, but at least the light wouldn’t hurt his eyes as much.

“Yes... Thank you.”

Anders glanced back at the fisherman, who was calmly dropping his nets into the water now that they were a few hours away from the island. The man had waved away the coins Anders had offered him as soon as he saw Fenris. They had reached the boat barely in time. The fisherman had already been hauling his little boat into the water, and with Anders’ help they’d pushed out.

The fisherman’s only request was that they assist him with pulling in his catch. They had learned that the raiders tended to stay out of the waters to the south of the island, because Amaranthine and Denerim ships would patrol regularly. Queen Anora was not tolerant with slavers. This allowed them a little breathing room for the first time since both had ended up in the cell in Alamar.

“You should get some sleep,” he told Fenris, and shrugged out of his duster. He rolled it into a little ball and handed it to the elf to use for a pillow. Most of the food he’d had in his pockets had been ruined when he’d fallen into the water during their argument, and he’d had to toss it all out. Luckily the food in Fenris’ coat had remained intact and they’d eaten some of that, sharing what they could with the old man. The elf took Anders’ coat and reluctantly curled up in the bottom of the small sailboat. Anders rolled up his shirt sleeves and moved to the back toward the fisherman. “We didn’t really get a chance to thank you... So... Um. Thanks,” he said, offering a smile to the old man.

“Don’t worry about it son, I wouldn’t have left you, after seeing what they did to your friend there.” The man’s eyes darted over to the elf and then back to his nets.

“We’re not really friends,” Anders replied, his own gaze wandering to the clear sea water.

“Aren’t you? You’re sticking your neck out something fierce then for a complete stranger,” the man said. Anders could hear the surprise in his voice and he shrugged a little.

“We’ve known each other for a long time. Maker, almost a decade. We’ve... never really gotten along. We fight a lot. Had a mutual friend we followed around. Split up a few weeks ago. I was headed to Gwaren, him to Antiva. Then we both ended up in the same slaver cell.” Anders snorted a little at the thought. It was like they were the Maker’s personal joke. He could almost hear the laughter from On High.

“Maybe it happened for a reason,” the man said, leaning his back against the side and looking at Anders critically. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re the Maker’s personal playthings,” Anders replied with a wry smile. “Though I suppose He’s been taking pretty good care of us lately. Can’t imagine _why_.”

“The Maker works in mysterious ways.”

Anders shifted uncomfortably and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and this was definitely not where he saw this conversation going. “So what do you need me to do with these fishies?” He forced a cheerful tone into his voice.

“Nothing yet. We let the net sit for a bit and we’ll pull them up. I only have room for one load. Then we’ll head to Amaranthine.”

Anders’ breath hitched a little. He did not want to go there. There were people who knew him there. Already they were closer to Amaranthine than he liked. He was sort of hoping they could get off on a beach somewhere and then hike past Amaranthine. Far past. Preferably southish and eastish. The fisherman glanced at Anders sidelong, but didn’t say anything.

“Oh, oh!” The fisherman began to tug the ropes on his side of the net. “Over there, grab that one! No, the other one! Yes. Pull it in quick! Quick! Now tie it off like this... Yes... Good!” Anders flopped onto the bench next to him, panting with the exertion. The boat rocked a little with the new added weight of the fish in the net. How this old man did this by himself usually... Wow. In the front of the boat Anders saw Fenris sit up suddenly.

“We have fish!” Anders called cheerfully to the elf, who even with the bandages over his eyes, made a disgusted face. “How does the boat not tip over with this weight?”

“I have weights on the other side for balance,” the fisherman told him, and began fiddling with the rigging to catch the wind. “This should be fine for today. You’ll probably want to get some rest. We’ll be in Amaranthine in a few more hours.”

Anders nodded and moved carefully toward the front where Fenris was and settled down. “He said we’ll be in Amaranthine in a few hours,” Anders told the elf after a moment of silence.

“Is that good?”

“Well... it’s in Ferelden, and they don’t like slavers or raiders there.”

“You don’t sound optimistic.”

“I... Well... Vigil’s Keep is near Amaranthine.”

“What’s that?”

“Um... the Grey Warden headquarters in Ferelden.”

“And you ran away from the Grey Wardens.”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“So there are likely to be people in Amaranthine that... um... recognise me.”

“Hm.”

“If you have any thoughts or ideas you’d like to throw in, I’m open to suggestions,” Anders said, slightly irritated by Fenris’ one syllable replies.

“Are you?”

“You are a pain in my ass, you know that?” The elf smirked a little.

“I could be if you want.”

“...I... That... You... ARGH,” Anders turned his back on the white-haired elf and crossed his arms, trying to ignore the burning feeling in his cheeks. Fenris must’ve been feeling better to make a joke like that.

_Dear Maker,_

_That was NOT FUNNY._

_No love,_

_Anders._


	10. Part Nine

“Okay,” Anders murmured under his breath. “That way is the Market Row, and around there we can get through the gates and out onto the road. We’ll have to go west.” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood with Fenris near the stairs down into the Commons. The sun was setting and their fisherman had dropped them off before getting his fish weighed and sold. He even gave Anders a sovereign, not taking no for an answer.

The problem was, Anders had been really planning on going south. Gwaren was so far from any real civilisation that he had been hoping to find somewhere nice and small to hide in quietly forever. Truthfully, he was tired of running. Now, however... They couldn’t go south from Amaranthine, as that would take them right by Vigil’s Keep, and he really didn’t need to get picked up by Warden’s right now. West was going to take them very close to Kinloch Hold, which didn’t make him comfortable either.

Unless they hiked across the Bannorn. Maybe they could follow the Hafter River through the Bannorn and to the South Road, but then what? Not to mention Fenris’ condition, and the collar still around his neck. They were, basically, defenseless. 

“Armour.”

Anders looked up, to see what Fenris had heard over the bustle of the Commons and paled a little.

Templars.

At the bottom of the stairs.

Accosting people.

Shit.

He swallowed and quickly adjusted his shirt and coat, trying to hid the collar as best he could. If they were lucky it would just be mistaken for a torc and they’d be left alone.

“Templars,” he told Fenris under his breath. He could feel the anger, the rage at seeing these templars somewhere in the back of his head. His collar felt hot and heavy and his fingers twitched. Anders took a deep breath and started to lead Fenris down. 

_Dear Maker,_

_PleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasePLEASE._

_Amen_

Then they were through. Anders let out the breath he’d been holding and turned as nonchalantly as he could toward Market Row. They made it, they were going to get out of this city, everything was going to be-

“Oi, you!”

_They’re not talking to us, they’re not talking to us, don’t stop, don’t turn around, keep walking…_

Behind him, Fenris made a surprised noise, and Anders felt the elf’s fingers leave his shoulder. Anders spun around to see a templar had pulled Fenris to one side, trapping the elf between him and a fence post. Anders sucked in his breath and moved toward the two. Maybe they just wanted to ask him questions? They’ll let him go again in a moment.

The templar put his hand up to Fenris’ chin and moved the elf’s head sharply up, exposing the markings on his neck. It was then that another templar came over.

“What’s going on here, Ser Jethric?”

“It’s lyrium, Ser. All over him.” The templar’s voice was almost dripping with lust for the mineral tracing Fenris’ body.

“Don’t be daft Jethric, that’d kill a man.” ‘Jethric’ turned to Fenris again and reached over, attempting to pull the elf’s shirt open to expose more of the tattoos. 

“Don’t touch me!” Fenris snarled at the knight, pushing the templar’s gauntleted hands away.

“Now, now, knife-ears. Just stay still. He could be one of those Tevinter mages. They do all sorts of things.”

“I am NOT a mage.” Fenris was getting angry now, but Jethric pushed the blind elf’s hands away and pulled his shirt open with a ripping sound. Anders grimaced. He’d have to steal another shirt. Stupid templars. The other templar attempted to hold Fenris still while Jethric examined the tattoos that were visible outside of the bandages still around the elf’s chest.

Anders looked around. No one was helping. They were all too scared. He didn’t blame them. There was only one more templar, he was still checking people coming down the stairs. It would have to be him.

“Ser templar!” Anders yelled, running up to the two and pretending to pant. “Ser templar! I saw a mage! Over by the inn! He had robes and a stick and everything!” Jethric looked away from Fenris for a moment, and Anders tugged on the knight’s arm urgently. “I swear. I saw him. He was cutting his hands and saying funny words!”

“Maleficar?” The templar seemed torn between checking out Anders’ story and the elf covered in lyrium behind him.

“Go Jethric, I’ll keep this one for questioning. We’ll give him a good look over later.”

The templar nodded and ran off in the direction that Anders had been pointing. As soon as he was around the corner, the mage turned to the other Templar who was starting to pull Fenris away, probably to lock him up somewhere until they could figure out what to do with him. He glanced over his shoulder at the final templar, who had his back to them, going through someone’s bag. 

“Now Fenris!” Anders shouted, and reached over, pulling the templar’s skirt down to his ankles. The elf’s hands flared blue and the templar found himself holding air and tripping over the cloth at his feet. Anders grabbed Fenris’ collar (not really keen on touching his arms while they were still blue), and pulled him as fast as he could toward Market Row. He could hear the shouting behind them as the templars attempted to rally themselves together again. They were not going to suffer being made fools of in public. They never did.

The two had to slow down when they got near the shops. Market Row was much busier now than it had been previously, which was good. However, it was mostly stalls and tables, no shops to duck into, no alleys to run down. Anders glanced behind them and saw a very angry templar scanning the crowd. At the other end, he saw two more templars coming slowly through the crowd, methodically checking faces and people with blond hair and white hair.

Anders let go of Fenris’ collar and took his hand tightly. “I’m sorry Fenris. We might not get out of this one.” Anders moved forward, hoping against hope that the Maker would somehow get him out of this, but he knew he only had so much luck before justice would catch up with him. He just hoped briefly that they’d leave Fenris alone. The elf didn’t need more scars.

Just as he had taken a few steps, Anders suddenly felt a strong arm around his waist, and a hand go over his mouth as he was physically yanked off of the street and into an alley that he was positive was a dead-end. The mage struggled as fiercely as he could as he was dragged through a doorway and dumped unceremoniously onto the floor of a dark, empty warehouse. Just as he tried to stand up, he felt another person dropped on top of him.

“What the Void!?” Anders shouted, pushing the person off of him. The grunting sound it made told him what he needed to know though. “Fenris? Are you okay?”

“Yes. Bruised, but whole. What happened?”

“I don’t-”

A match flared, and suddenly Anders found that he was looking at one of the last people in the world he expected to see.

“Hello Anders.”

“W-Warden Commander...”

_Dear Maker,_

_Fuck._

_Anders._


	11. Part Ten

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” 

Anders pulled himself to his feet and reached over to help Fenris up as well. He frowned at the torn shirt and the dirty bandages as he got a better look at them. The light behind him grew a bit, and Anders turned to see that a lamp had been lit. There were only three other Wardens there with the Commander.

“Um... Fenris, this is the Ferelden Warden Commander, Hero of Ferelden, etcetera, Feyar Tabris. Commander, this is Fenris,” Anders said, holding the male elf’s elbow a little tightly. He wasn’t exactly sure what the Commander was planning. She had always been rather unpredictable, even for a roguish type. The Commander came over to Fenris and narrowed her eyes, taking in his appearance.

“Pleasure, Fenris,” she said, and took the elf’s hand, placing his fingers on her nose. Anders could see Fenris stiffen in surprise. Most people were surprised when they met her. The Hero of Ferelden was supposed to be twenty feet tall and had fire shooting from her eyes.

“You’re an elf!” he said in surprise as his fingers reached her ears. He pulled his hand away.

“I’m short too,” she replied blandly, but Anders could see her smiling. “Now Anders, what have you gone and gotten yourself into this time? I heard something about a Chantry exploding. Where is Justice, by the way?”

“Um...” he glanced at Fenris and then back to the Commander, licking his lips. “That’s sort of a long story...”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Well, let’s get back to the Keep before you go making any more friends with the templars. They’re currently camping on my doorstep, demanding that I turn over all Grey Warden mages.” She snorted. “Ridiculous.”

Anders and Fenris were escorted to the back of the warehouse and through some tunnels that he was pretty sure weren’t there when he was last here. It was nice though, it meant he didn’t have to worry about templars or guards or anything other than how he was going to have to get away from the Grey Wardens again, though maybe... just maybe, this would be a good place for Fenris to stay. 

**

When they arrived in the Keep some hours later, the Commander ordered a bath for them both (because they were filthy, _apparently_ ), and said when they were clean, to come to the main hall and she’d see about that collar around Anders’ neck.

Their escorts began to shunt them into separate rooms, but Anders protested (much to Fenris’ apparent relief). The mage then found himself in a bathing room. Alone. With Fenris. And hot water and soap and towels. Anders peeled his coat and shirt off quickly, eager to wash the grime off of his body.

“They’re gone Fenris, you can take your clothes off now. There is hot water ready for us already,” Anders said, his voice betraying his excitement.

“What about the bandages?”

“I’ll help you with those. They need changed anyway, and I want to see how your ribs are doing. You have a lot of dried blood still in your hair, which is almost black now, by the way.” Anders sat down and pulled his boots off. He watched as Fenris pulled his own clothes off, carefully. He didn’t seem to be in any pain as he moved his shoulders around, which was a good sign. Anders also noted that most of the bruises seemed to be gone as well. Bending over seemed to hurt though, as Fenris hissed in pain when he tried to get his breeches off.

Anders took Fenris’ elbow gently and led him to a chair. “I’ll help you.”

When they were both finally stripped, and the bandages had been removed, Anders (trying to be as clinical as possible) helped Fenris into the water, his eyes attempting to remain on a point above Fenris’ head because he wasn’t going to look. Not at all. He really wasn’t curious if there were tattoos on Fenris’... oh there weren’t. Huh. Interesting. He looked away with a blush. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen naked men before, really. He was acting like an apprentice. 

Fenris sank into the water with a content sound and Anders followed suit. 

_Dear Maker,_

_I love hot water._

_Thanks,_

_Anders._

He just lay there for a minute, soaking in the warmth, resting his muscles for the first time in days. After a bit, Anders sat up and grabbed a cloth and soap and scooted across to Fenris.

“Turn around. Let me clean you off,” Anders told him, lathering the washcloth up.

“I can clean myself,” Fenris retorted, frowning in the mage’s direction.

“I’ll let you clean yourself, but I’m going to clean your back and your hair and your face, because you cannot see any of the mess that is there. I’m telling you, you look like you fell into a mineshaft.” Fenris reluctantly moved so that Anders could wash his back. “This might be a good thing though. Someone here may be able to help you with your eyes,” Anders said, beginning to wash the grime off of Fenris’ shoulders. “And... if they can’t... well,” he moved down the elf’s back, admiring the muscles there and the way the tattoos accentuated them, “this is a safe place. They’d watch out for you here.”

“You speak as if you will leave me,” Fenris said. Anders could hear the frown. The blond coaxed Fenris into turning around again and began to clean his neck and chest.

“You know, your markings really are quite beautiful,” Anders said. Smooth subject change.

“So I’ve been told.” The elf pursed his lips wryly. Anders pushed him around again, rubbing soap into his hands.

“Wash your face,” he told the elf curtly, and began to work the soap into Fenris’ hair, trying to be as gentle as possible with the edges that were still caked with dried blood. “There. Dunk yourself under water to wash that out when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” Anders moved to the other side again to wash himself off with a shrug.

When they were both clean, Anders helped Fenris out of the bath and gave him a towel. They both wrapped themselves up before Anders started to inspect Fenris’ ribs.

“Why are you doing that?” Fenris adjusted the towel around his waist and lifted an arm up as Anders worked his fingers around the bruises.

“Just... making sure. Sorry, it bugs me that I couldn’t heal them with magic and I’m worried they’ll heal wrong,” Anders replied. He looked around and found that their clothes were gone, and that new clothes had been left for them. “Andraste’s tits, I didn’t even hear anyone come in!”

“I did.”

“Well thanks for sharing that little tidbit.”

“I did not think it was important.”

“Oh. Well. Yeah. I guess not. But still. Here. Clothes.” Anders handed Fenris the new clothes and finished drying himself off before working into his as well. They were... normal. Which was promising, since he wasn’t being forced into Warden armor. Yet. When Fenris was ready as well, Anders opened the door, to find their escorts there, ready to take them to the main hall. Anders put Fenris’ hand on his shoulder so the elf would know where he was (it was NOT because he was getting used to it), and they followed their escorts down the hall.

The hall looked pretty much how Anders remembered it, though there were more Wardens and guards, which he supposed was a good thing. When they’d reached the hall, Feyar gestured to them to come to her, and their escorts stayed behind at the door. Anders led Fenris over, glancing around the room to see if there was anyone else there he recognised.

“Anders, this is Gairyth. He may be able to do something about your friend’s wounds. I have sent for Voldrik so he can take a look at that thing around your neck,” Feyar said, gesturing to a chair for Fenris. Anders looked critically at the mage she had referred to, and pursed his lips. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Anders ask over his shoulder.

“Not really.”

Gairyth came forward and touched Fenris’ arm gently to let him know he was there, and then began to examine him. Anders could just barely feel the warm influx of healing magic on the ends of his fingers as the younger mage worked on Fenris’ ribs and head.

“Stop!” the sharp command came from Fenris, and the young mage stumbled back a few steps, breathing hard.

“Sorry Commander... he... he has lyrium. All over him. It... I think I was unconsciously leeching some of it. I didn’t... didn’t realise.” The young man blushed furiously and stepped away as Feyar looked at Fenris more critically.

“Just get this thing off of me and I can finish checking him up. I’ve been healing him for almost a decade, I know how to do it carefully,” Anders said, and led Fenris to the chair, making him sit down and then standing a little in front of him to keep the others away. Feyar gave him an amused smile, looking at Fenris, who was obviously irritated with the younger mage, and then at Anders, who didn’t even seem to realise he was being a protector.

“Perhaps that would be best then. I hope we can help you with that collar then, Anders. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to?”

Anders glanced around the room uncertainly. “I’m not sure this is really...”

“Seneschal! Clear the room please. Only allow Voldrik to enter.” The silver-haired seneschal did not seem please at this idea and began to protest, but Feyar only cut him off. “I’ll be perfectly safe. Anders is a kitten.” She grinned at the mage, who rolled his eyes at her. He looked thoughtful for a moment though. Ser-Pounce-a-Lot should still be here...


	12. Part Eleven

The story had been a long one, especially as Feyar asked many questions and interrupted a lot. When Voldrik finally was able to take a look at Anders’ collar, he made a few irritated noises and then shook his head.

“It’s made of Silverite, I can tell you that much, but there seems to be some very strong enchantments woven into it. It’s unbreakable,” Voldrik said with a shrug. “We’d need a good enchanter to break the spells before we could remove it.”

“Where’s Sandal when you need him?” Anders said with a sigh and a small smile. Feyar frowned a bit and tilted Anders’ chin up so she could inspect the lock more closely. She pulled a set of lockpicks from a pouch on her belt and flipped through them quickly, deciding on one and putting it into the small keyhole. Anders and Feyar both yelped loudly in surprise and pain a moment later, and she put the lockpicks away again.

“So only the enchanted key to match the enchanted collar will work...” Feyar sucked on the tip of her fingers gingerly, looking frustrated. “All the mages I have in the Keep are young, new. Most of them came here when the templars raided Kinloch Hold, hoping we’d help them. Most haven’t finished their training yet. Gairyth was the oldest.”

Anders frowned. “Where are the other mages? The Senior Enchanters, the Warden mages?”

“All on assignment, with orders to return to Weisshaupt immediately afterward. Easier to protect them there,” she said with a shrug. “As for the Senior Enchanters... I don’t know. Gairyth said that they helped the children get out, and that’s about all he knows.” Feyar sighed gently and rubbed her eyes. “There are a lot of children here right now. Gairyth and a few other newly Harrowed mages got the children from Kinloch to here, I guess Irving told them to try to get to the Vigil. Gairyth and one other decided to do the Joining, but the other didn’t make it.” She frowned and looked over at Anders, who had closed his eyes as he listened to her.

“Thank you,” he said finally, quietly.

“Templars annoy me. I’m not going to let them slaughter innocent children,” she replied and looked over at Fenris, whose blank gaze was trained on Anders’ back. “Truth be told, Anders. I could really use your help when we get that collar off of you.”

The mage didn’t reply, running a hand through his hair instead and glancing back at Fenris. “I think we need a good night’s sleep,” he said finally, and stood up. “I’ll speak with Gairyth tomorrow about checking Fenris’ eyes without overwhelming himself with lyrium.”

Feyar pursed her lips, nodding. “You know where the barracks are. You should be able to find room for both of you.” Anders helped Fenris up and nodded, leading the elf from the room. As soon as the door to the main hall closed behind them, Fenris stopped.

“What are you planning?” he asked, his voice low.

“I... don’t know. You should have realised by now, Fen-fen. I like to fly by the seat of my pants most of the time,” Anders replied, trying to sound whimsical. Fenris didn’t seem to be buying it.

“You’re planning something.”

“Let’s get some rest, Fenris. You’re safe here, so even if we can’t fix your eyes, the Warden’s will take care of you. Give you something to keep you busy, that sort of thing,” Anders told him, starting to walk again.

“Anders.”

“What?”

“Just...” Anders could hear the elf make a frustrated noise and the fingers on his shoulder gripped his shirt a little tighter. Anders stopped again when Fenris mumbled something in Arcanum. He turned to look at Fenris and saw that the white-haired elf’s expression was one of annoyance. It was reminiscent of the face Anders remembered seeing him make when Isabela would flirt with him, or Varric would tease him.

“I don’t speak Arcanum, Fenris.”

“It is... nothing. Nevermind.”

“No, it’s obviously bothering you. What is the problem?” Anders sounded irritated. This was something about the elf that always bugged him. He was so damned repressed. Any time it came to an emotion other than anger, the elf would get fidgety or annoyed, and then irritate everyone around him.

“Just promise you won’t leave me alone,” Fenris said finally, though Anders had a feeling that wasn’t what he was going to originally say.

“I promise you won’t be alone,” Anders replied, and turned again, opening the door to the barracks. It had a few Wardens in it, and they looked at Anders and Fenris curiously as the mage settled the elf into one of the beds that had an empty chest at the foot. Then he found one nearby for himself and settled down.

He slept for only a few hours before getting up again. He did have a plan, but it didn’t involve Fenris being included in it. The elf was safe here, Feyar was a good person, she wouldn’t let him get into any trouble. Anders quietly pulled his boots on and gazed across the two cots between them to Fenris. The elf was sleeping on his side, his hair in his eyes, the lyrium on his skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. He wasn’t sure why, but this was a lot harder than he thought it was going to be.

It was Fenris. His arch-nemesis, the person who had fought with him at every turn for mage rights. This was also a person who had fought beside and healed for almost a decade, someone who when it came down to it, had fought against templars and Meredith, who had protected mages. Who had not turned him or Merrill or Hawke into the Chantry. Someone who fought for freedom, even if it scared him.

Why was the idea of leaving this elf behind so hard?

_Dear Maker,_

_I admit it, I like him. He’s not so bad when he’s not being stupid. And yes, his pretty face doesn’t hurt at all._

_Just... keep an eye on him, okay?_

_Thanks,_

_Anders._

He stood up and left the room as quietly as possible. He would find someone to get this collar off. He knew what he needed now, and he could get around more quickly by himself. Besides, it wasn’t as if Fenris needed to avoid templars and the rest of Thedas the way Anders did.

Maker, why did he keep arguing with himself about this?

Anders stalked down the hallway, and stuck his head into main hall. It was empty, everyone was asleep, other than the guards outside, probably. He head back the way he came, turning a different direction when he got to the end of the hall, making his way to the armory. In there, he found a coat he could use. It was blue and screamed Grey Warden, but at least that didn’t scream mage. He also grabbed a new staff. That screamed mage, but he couldn’t use any magic right now, and it was the only weapon he knew for certain how to use.

On his way out one of the side doors, he managed to pilfer some bread and cheese and fruit. When he stepped into the courtyard, he looked around. There were guards on the walls, and some on the Keep itself, but they were mostly quiet and seemed bored. Apparently the templars were the most exciting thing to happen in a while.

Staying to the shadows, Anders worked his way around the edge of the courtyard, hoping against hope that the loose board that he used to use when he wanted to sneak into town was still loose.

It was.

_Dear Maker,_

_If I ever say anything bad about you personally again, you have my permission to hit me with a lightning bolt._

_Thanks,_

_Anders._

By the time the sun came up, Anders was well on his way down the North Road, toward Denerim.


	13. Part Twelve

Darkness.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he panicked. The panic lasted less and less time lately. It had not even been an entire week, and he was already becoming more accustomed to it.

Deep breath. Blink.

It was still the same. Now that he was awake and his eyes were adjusting, he could see the dark shapes in the room, and the vague promise of light somewhere to his left, probably a window. He listened a moment, trying to gauge what was going on around him. He could hear crackling and popping - a fire then; somewhere ahead of him. There, the orange-ish glow. He could hear breathing. At least three different sets of lungs. Distance was difficult. It was hard for him to figure out how to judge the distance of something based on sound still. He was trying to work on it though. Since that night they slept on the hillside and he realised how terrifying it was to lay on the grass and to know in his mind that Anders was a few feet away, but not really _know_.

He stood up, and wobbled only slightly. He remembered hearing Anders walk four steps down and two steps to the right, so he had to be two cots away based on the width of his own cot. Fenris leaned over and trailed his fingers along the edge of the cot next to him, trying to use his feet to find the other cot. When he found it, he turned to the right and carefully took four steps, trailing his fingers along the chests at the end of the cots. When he reached the third chest, he touched the cot and felt the wrinkles of a blanket indicating that someone slept here.

“Anders?”

He carefully moved between the cots and felt the mattress again. No one there. Fenris frowned slightly. Someone had definitely slept here, but the blankets were cold, as was the pillow. Whomever slept here had not been there for hours.

He felt the panic welling up inside his chest again and took a deep, ragged breath.

It’s fine. He just didn’t want to wake me. He went for a walk, or is eating, or talking with the Commander, he told himself, and sat down on the bed that Anders had been sleeping in. Yes, he could tell it was Anders’ bed now, he could smell the soap they’d bathed with earlier, and that strange, musky smell that was inherent to Anders. Elfroot, ink and wood. Sylvanwood, he was pretty sure. Anders had tended toward Sylvanwood staffs, he remembered, though he wasn’t exactly sure _why_ he remembered that.

He would just wait here. Anders would be back soon. He probably just couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake Fenris. The elf had to admit, it was the best sleep he’d had in some time. The sun was coming through a window and he winced as the light began to brighten in the room. Yes, Anders would be back soon, he was sure.

A door opened and Fenris sat up a little, expecting it to be Anders.

“Serah Fenris?”

He frowned. That was not Anders. That was that child. The one in the hall that tried to heal him. “Guy-reth?” he said, not sure if he had the name right or not.

“Gairyth,” the boy corrected, moving over to Fenris and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Is Enchant-um... I mean, Anders. Is Anders here?”

Fenris blinked. “You... do not know where he is?”

“No, I thought he came in here to sleep. The Commander told me to wake him and you up, so we could see about your eyes this morning. He was going to teach me how to heal you without hurting either of us... I am very sorry about that. I’m... still learning.”

“It is... Can you... I...” Fenris swallowed, feeling the panic rise in his chest again. Anders _promised_.

“Are you all right, Serah? Is the light hurting your eyes, they’re watering a little...” the young man sounded concerned.

“Y-yes. It hurts my eyes,” he closed them tightly, “Anders had bandages he wrapped over my eyes to filter the light.”

“I can do that too if you’d like, but we’d have to go to the infirmary to get the bandages. Do you want to do that first, or would you like to see the Commander? I know she wants to see you, but she’s pretty patient most of the time. Well, she is with me anyway. Sometimes I see her yell at Nathaniel, but she’s usually smiling when she does it, and she yells at Oghren too, but he just laughs at her.” The young man helped Fenris to his feet and brought him gently by the elbow to the door, which he opened and led Fenris through.

“Please-” Fenris interrupted the diatribe, “take me to the Commander. You... you can get the bandages while I speak with her.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I didn’t think of that. Have you known Anders long? I’ve heard all about him in the Circle, he was famous there. An example to all mages of what not to do, but yet he got away with it all anyway,” the young man laughed to himself as he led Fenris down the halls. He was a little clumsy and didn’t usually notice if Fenris bumped into something, but he didn’t move very quickly, so other than the incessant chatter, he wasn’t too bad to follow. “Enchanter Sylah once told me that he swam the Lake just to escape! Isn’t that incredible? He-”

“All right, Gairyth, I think you can let him go now before you talk his ears off.”

“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry, Serah! I... um... I’ll get those bandages for your eyes. Oh, Commander, Anders wasn’t in the barracks,” the boy said. Fenris felt him let go and heard his foot steps as he scurried off in another direction.

“Yes, I expected as much,” Feyar said with a sigh. She slipped her arm around Fenris’ and led him carefully to a chair. “Do you want anything to eat, Fenris?” His throat was dry and he licked his lips nervously.

“I... would like some water. Please,” he said, uncertainly. This was not right. This was... unfamiliar. Anders was familiar, even if he was a pain in the ass. He could handle this if Anders were here. He felt something cold and heavy being pushed into his hands, and he held it for a moment. The weight dropped when he had a good grip, the person handing it to him seemed to be making sure he really had ahold of it before letting go. Fenris trailed his fingers over the item and found the top was open.

“It’s water,” Feyar’s voice said. He kept his fingers on the lip and raised it carefully to his mouth, not tipping it until he was sure he wouldn’t spill it. “I am afraid, as handsome as you are, I will be unable to keep a personal eye on you while you stay here. I have many other things that I’m trying to juggle at the same time, and Anders running off is the least of my concerns, though I’m sure it ranks very high on yours. I apologise, Fenris. I am going to have Gairyth be your assistant, but he has other duties that he may need to bring you along for. He’s one of the only semi-trained healers in the entire Keep right now, and he’s one of the few people the mage children will actually obey.”

Fenris closed his eyes, and if his hands hadn’t been full he would have pinched his brow. “I... am not...” he pursed his lips, trying to find the tactful words, “comfortable, with children or mages.”

“And yet you’re friends with Anders,” she said, he could hear the humour in her voice. “And don’t tell me that was different. I am afraid, while I have no actual authority over you, you are, unfortunately for you, at my mercy, and blind. Therefore, you’re stuck with mages and children as long as I need you to be.” The elf sighed heavily.

“Very well.” She pat his arm gently as Gairyth came back, carrying bandages, ignoring the soft words that he murmured under his breath in Arcanum.

“Gairyth, your current assignments are going to now include being Serah Fenris’ eyes. He will be at your mercy, so please be gentle.”

“Um... Y-yes C-Commander!”

 _Dear Maker,_

 _Wherever Anders is right now, please bring him back here as soon as possible so I can break his face._

 _Fenris._


	14. Part Thirteen

It was almost a necessity that he teach himself to get around without the young mage’s help. After only an hour in his company with the younger children laughing and playing and occasionally setting things on fire, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed to do something.

So here he was, standing on the battlements, listening to the sounds of a busy castle. He had trailed his hands along the walls until he’d found some stairs, which he had carefully climbed and stepped through a door to find himself outside. He had startled the guard somewhat, but they didn’t seem to mind him being there - they’d had no orders telling them otherwise. Fenris stayed against the wall near the door back down the stairs and just listened for a while. He could hear birds above, and the wind rustling through some trees nearby. A lot of trees. They must be near a forest of some sort. He could hear swords being sharpened, something being hammered.

Fenris concentrated on that sound for a moment, listening to it, trying to decide what exactly was being worked on. It had a hollow sound, with a little bit of a vibration. A chest piece?

To the left was... the guard. He could hear the chain mail rattle when he walked. There... was another person in chain mail further away. Fenris made a frustrated noise. It was difficult. He missed his sword. The weight of a weapon in his hands, and having something to _do_.

The sound of someone laughing drew his attention finally. It sounded like the Commander, but it was hard to tell. The only voice he knew he could identify immediately right now was Anders’.

“You’re so cute Stephan! There are, what, ten of you? And you’re holding a siege on Vigil’s Keep? Because I have mages in here?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. He wished he could get closer to hear what the person on the other side was saying. He was pretty sure it was the Commander now, but where he was standing was secure. He knew where he was and what was around him, and moving away would bring insecurity and possible harm.

“Oh right, I’m sorry! Dangerous maleficar apostates, how could I forget, what with all the pimples and skinned knees.”

She was silent again, probably listening to whatever the person below was bellowing at her. He could vaguely hear a deep voice, but it was a mumble, and barely audible over all the other noises around him.

“Go home, Stephan, I am still the arlessa of this region and I will have no qualms whatsoever about sending the dogs out. Or possibly Oghren. You don’t want me to send Oghren, he smells worse.”

He could hear the guard suddenly shift, as if putting himself at attention, and the sounds of footsteps were coming closer.

“Fenris. I see you’ve already managed to escape the children, good for you,” Feyar sounded amused and slipped her arm through his to lead him down the stairs again. “I think you should come to lunch in my office. Most of the gang will be there, and I’m sure they’ll be very interested in you.”

“You... are not going to send me back to the children?”

“Of course not. I just wanted to see how long it would take you to get frustrated and figure out how to move around on your own. I had a bet going with myself that you wouldn’t last the morning with Gairyth. You’re a two-handed warrior, aren’t you? It’s rare to see elves that can handle a two-hander, though I suppose your tattoos have something to do with that. Sigrun will probably cream herself.”

“Sigrun?”

“I suppose Anders didn’t talk about us much. We’re that embarrassing family that no one ever wants to bring their friends home to meet.”

She was a very odd elf. Like Varric. Only stranger. They stopped for a moment, Fenris had been trying very hard to follow her conversation, but also to figure out the directions they’d just taken from the battlements. He remembered turning left at the bottom of the stairs, and then ten steps (though Feyar’s legs were very short, so probably only five steps) to the door into the Main Hall, then across the main hall (this was where it was a little fuzzy, since it was difficult to tell if they were walking a straight line or not), through a door, and then thirty steps, right turn, twenty steps, left turn, twenty-five steps, and stop. He hoped. If he was going to get around this place without children leading him everywhere, he was going to have to make a map in his head somehow. She opened a door and led him inside. He could hear people talking and the sounds of plates and cups. The room wasn’t very big, but it seemed big enough to hold quite a few people in it, as well as a table and chairs. He wondered if they played Wicked Grace here, and smiled to himself a little as he thought of the Hanged Man.

“Good afternoon children, how are we today?”

“Who’s that?”

“Yes, Sigrun, I was going to get to that, but you got ahead of me. Everyone this is Fenris. He will be staying here for... well... a bit.” She led him to a bench, that he bumped his shins against, and let him seat himself carefully on it. “Introductions around the room. Let him get used to your voice. Our warrior friend here had a bit of a run in with slavers and they gave him a nasty knock to his head, so he doesn’t see so well right now.”

“I’m Sigrun!” The woman he had heard earlier pipped up. It was followed by a belch and a fart somewhere to the right of her and most of the room made a disgusted noise, while the apparent perpetrator laughed.

“Oghren.”

“We have met before. Nathaniel Howe,” came a voice across from him. It was familiar.

“The Deep Roads. Your sister came to Kirkwall looking for assistance in finding you,” Fenris said after a moment. He remembered a taciturn fellow with black hair and a bow.

“Yes, it is good you remember. I am sorry to see you as such, you were a talented swordsman.”

“And he will be again,” Feyar said with finality.

“I guess that leaves me then? I think we’ve met too. Briefly, during the Qunari attack. Name’s Alistair.”

“...You are the one that swore on your pinky not to reveal the Warden secrets?” Fenris remembered him quite well. He was... strange.

“You do remember!” Alistair was next to him and seemed to positively radiate with cheerfulness.

“Yes... it is... difficult to forget,” Fenris replied, feeling a little less like an outsider, but only just.

“Fenris arrived in Amaranthine with Anders yesterday,” Feyar told the group and sat down on the other side of Alistair.

“Anders is here?” Sigrun sounded surprised.

“Not any longer,” Fenris replied, with bitterness.

“That’s not a surprise,” Nathaniel said. “Running away again.”

“He has much to run from, from what _I_ hear,” came from Oghren.

“He started his revolution. He and Justice. I’m... sort of proud of them,” Feyar said, and Fenris could hear the smile in her voice. “Anyway, I brought Fenris in here to introduce him and to let you all know that he is very fidgety from lack of weapons and armour and eyesight, so please feel free to annoy him as much as possible so he doesn’t get bored.”

Part of Fenris was annoyed. What if he wanted to be alone? What if he didn’t want to be pitied by Grey Wardens and guards and servants. He already felt useless and powerless as it was. He missed _Anders_ for Maker’s sake. The solid shoulder under his hand, and exasperated sarcasm that he could sometimes surprise with his own snide remarks. It was amazing how good it felt when he could tell he’d flustered the mage. The warmth of his callused hands when they checked his wounds and tied his bandages.

“Fenris?”

“Hn?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you not hear me?” Fenris furrowed his brow slightly.

“You are... Sigrun? I did not hear you ask me anything, I apologise...”

“Yes, Sigrun. Sorry! Um. I was asking about your tattoos. I have some too, on my face, but yours kind of look like Velanna’s Dalish markings.”

“They are not Dalish,” Fenris said, pursing his lips.

“No, they’re much prettier. What sort of ink was used? I’ve never seen tattoos like those. They almost sparkle!”

“Lyrium.”

The room fell silent for a moment.

“How is it that you’re not scrabbling at the walls and babbling in a corner somewhere?” Oghren’s voice cut the silence. Fenris shrugged.

“I was a slave in Tevinter. My master was a magister. He branded me with these during a ritual that I do not remember. So I cannot tell you. I assume it has something to do with the spells he cast,” Fenris replied. He put his hands on the table in front of him, feeling around a little before finding a loaf of bread with a knife sticking out of the top of it. He carefully cut a chunk out and bit into it, waiting for any other questions they might have. He heard someone get up and move across the room. Soon a small presence was next to him, practically bursting with curiousity.

“Can I touch them?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I do not like being touched.”

“Oh. Do they go all over your body? Or just there on your neck?”

“They are on my back, chest, arms, and legs,” he said blandly and ate another piece of bread.

“Are they decorative or functional as well? I would imagine there would be some reason to brand lyrium into someone’s skin, especially with how likely it is to kill you or drive you insane.”

Fenris sighed and put down the bread. Obviously she would be like Merrill. Full of questions and curiosity. If only to get her to leave him be, he knew a demonstration would be in order. Fenris concentrated a moment, and he heard a sharp gasp of wonder from Sigrun as his tattoos lit up. He focused the power into his hand, and then stuck his arm through the table, which elicited a few other noises from those who watched. He pulled his hand back again and let the lyrium song fade from his skin slowly.

“Isabela calls it my ‘magical fisting trick’,” he said, and calmly picked his bread up and began to eat it again.

“Ooh, that sounds useful,” he heard Feyar say.

“I am not branding myself with lyrium to learn it,” came the reply from Alistair.

“You don’t love me.”

“Nope, not at all.”

Fenris was reminded of Isabela and Hawke, and it hurt a little. His throat tightened slightly as he realised that he missed them all. The people here were nice, but they weren’t his friends.

 _Maker,_

 _Watch over them please._

 _Fenris._


	15. Part Fourteen

The days seemed to go on forever. He had little to do, he slept in the barracks with everyone else, and during the day he was either dragged off by Gairyth, or left to explore on his own. Sometimes Sigrun would come and talk with him. She had a lot of good advice on how to move around in the dark and even how to fight. She had brought him one of the mage staffs, which he had balked at, but when she explained her idea, he took it, curious to try. After two days with it, the staff was almost an extension of his arm. It weighed less than his broadsword, but was about the same length. He used it to find the edges of things on the floor so he wouldn’t hit them, to judge distances, and find doorways.

Nathaniel had taken him out a few times as well, teaching him about different smells and sounds. The human rogue was an exceptional scout, and Fenris was surprised how much he learned. Sometimes Feyar would come see him, just to talk and joke, tell stories and laugh. She liked to laugh. Probably why she kept Alistair around, he assumed. Sometimes Oghren tried to entice him into drinking with him, but Fenris had already been warned thoroughly by everyone else not to fall for that. In the evenings, by the time they were done with him, he would fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. He rarely dreamt, though when he did, it was of Anders. Goodness knows why he dreamt of the mage, but he did. They seemed to be memories of Kirkwall, Anders healing, Anders angry, Anders losing at strip Diamondback. Sometimes he dreamt of Hawke, or of Isabela and Varric, but he rarely remembered any of the dreams. He’d only wake up in the darkness with someone’s face etched on the inside of his eyelids. It was frustrating to be able to see in his sleep and then wake up to shadows.

It was the morning of his sixth day in the Vigil that he awoke to something climbing on him and purring. He frowned, not opening his eyes. It was obviously a cat, but he had not known of any cats around the Keep. There were dogs. Lots and lots of dogs, but no cats. He had to wonder how one had managed to get all the way inside the Keep and into the room he was sleeping in without getting eaten by one of the mabari. The cat pushed its cold nose against his cheek and purred louder, decidedly marking Fenris as _his_.

“Cat. I would rather not throw you across the room, so you have ten seconds to get off,” he rumbled at the animal. To his surprise, the cat meowed and jumped off of him. He waited a second and then sat up, and rubbed his eyes.

It was an orange ball of fluff staring at him from the floor.

It was orange.

He could see it.

Fenris rubbed his eyes again, just to make sure.

It was blurry, and he couldn’t see it well, but it was there, and it had colour and it was cat-shaped. He stood up slowly and looked around the room. There were four other people in the room, all still asleep. He could see their boots. Well... blurry, boot-shaped objects on the floor next to their cots. He could see the grey woolen blankets. It reminded him of when he tried to open his eyes under water. Everything was there, and had colour and substance and shape, but they were difficult to make out, and were blurry around the edges.

He must be dreaming. That was the only possibility. The cat meowed at him again, and twined itself between his legs, purring.

_Dear Maker,_

_If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me up._

_Fenris_

Behind him, the door opened.

“Pounce!” someone whispered. “Pounce are you in here?”

Fenris turned his head and saw a blur with black hair and what looked like a brown dress or maybe a coat, it was long and flared at the bottom is all he could really tell.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Serah. I hope Pounce didn’t wake you?”

“Pounce?”

“Ser Pounce-a-lot,” she said and he watched her bend down and scoop up the orange blur. “There you are. You are a very naughty kitty. He always comes to this room first when I bring him, he checks to see if... well, anyway. I’m sorry he woke you.”

She closed the door quietly behind her as Fenris just stood and stared. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, and everything was still the same... though he was starting to get a headache. Fenris grabbed the staff that was leaning against the wall next to his cot and walked slowly toward the door, his eyes focusing on his feet. Yes, there was the chest blur, and those were his feet, and there was another cot and chest, and there... that was a door with a handle. Fenris reached out tentatively and opened the door.

“Oh, good morning Fenris.” Fenris blinked a few times and squinted at the person in the hallway, talking to him.

“Sigrun?”

“...Yes?” He saw the dwarf-shaped blur tilt its head curiously at him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The movement was almost nauseating.

“Do... do you have black hair?”

“....Yeeees?”

“And... your clothes... are... blue and... silver?”

“Standard Warden issue...” he could hear her frowning. “Why are you asking?”

Fenris opened his eyes again. “I... think I can see you.”

“What!?” He saw her hands go up to cover her mouth after the exclamation. She looked down the hall both ways and grabbed his hand. “Come on, we have to go see Gairyth.”

Sigrun dragged him through the hallways to the room that had been converted into an infirmary - something left over from Anders’ stay here, he’d been told - and banged the door open, scaring the poor young man right out of his bed.

“Gairyth! Get up!”

After the poor boy pulled some clothing on and splashed some water onto his face, he sat Fenris down and examined him as best he could. After a few minutes, Gairyth leaned back, running a hand through his reddish hair and shrugging.

“Well, his eyes seem... well they don’t look as red as they were when he first came in, and he’s reacting to light now, so that’s good. You can see colours and shapes now, but it’s still blurry. I dunno, maybe another day or two, as long as you rest them, and you’ll be able to see again?” Gairyth was the most experienced person in the building, which was a little worrisome, but he was better than nothing. “You should probably keep the bandages on though. You’re just going to wear them out if you keep running around trying to look at everything.”

Fenris reluctantly let Gairyth put new bandages over his eyes, which made his headache lessen a little. For the remainder of the day, he was restless and fidgety. The cat kept following him around too. Now that he knew its name, he was certain the cat knew that Fenris had seen Anders recently and it was very intent on sticking to Fenris because of this.

Pounce was currently sitting on Fenris’ lap, watching a game of Wicked Grace with more than passing interest. Alistair was losing. This was apparently normal.

“Why is it that whenever we play this game, I always lose?” Alistair finally complained, throwing his cards down onto the table in disgust. Feyar cackled and scooped up the winnings before leaning over and kissing his cheek cheerfully.

“Because we cheat, of course.”

“Oghren doesn’t cheat.”

“Oghren doesn’t lose either,” she pointed out, which made Fenris smile slightly. Behind them, someone knocked at the door. “Come in!”

“A message, Messere,” a guard, whose voice Fenris didn’t recognise, said, and handed her a note. Feyar opened it, humming to herself as she read it, her legs bouncing with energy under the table.

“Hm. Thank you,” she said, dismissing the guard. He closed the door behind him, and everyone (Fenris included) turned to Feyar expectantly. “A handful of mages have been captured near Redcliffe.”

“So? I mean, that isn’t good for the mages, I feel for them, but why does that matter to us?” Nathaniel said, leaning onto his elbows.

“Two of them are Wardens,” she said with a frown, refolding the paper. “Velanna and Jarod.”

“Andraste’s tits!” Oghren slammed his fist on the table. “Templars are getting on my nerves.”

Feyar glanced down the table at Alistair and then at Fenris. “Connor and Anders are among them as well, if our sources are right.”

“I suppose this means we’ll have to go get them,” Sigrun said with an exasperated sigh.

“Of course! I’m not letting my sort-of-cousin get dragged off to be made Tranquil or whatever it is the Divine is doing with them these days.” Alistair stood up.

“I had a feeling you would all feel that way,” Feyar told them. “The report says they’re taking them to Denerim to let the Grand Cleric decide what to do with them. I have a feeling they don’t quite know what they have yet.” Fenris could feel her eyes on him. He knew what they had, and she knew, but he wasn’t sure the others did. “The safest route would be for them to come by the Vigil. We all know the Wilds are hiding more than darkspawn and witches these days, and I doubt they’d want to chance anyone getting rescued that way.”

“But if they have Wardens, don’t they realise coming by way of Amaranthine would get them attacked as well?” Nathaniel said, his voice incredulous.

“Wardens are supposed to remain neutral,” Fenris spoke up finally, his deep voice making everyone turn to him. “Perhaps they are hoping on your neutrality.”

“But they must know we have mage children and apostates running around the Keep already?” Sigrun pointed out.

“So they might go via Lothering anyway, just to keep away from us,” Alistair remarked. “Two groups, love?”

“You’re so smart.”

“I’ll take Oghren, Sigrun, and a handful of guards, we’ll go by way of Kinloch Hold?”

“Sounds grand. I’ll take Nathaniel and some guards and go by way of Denerim then,” Feyar said. “No mages. Take as many bandages and poultices as you can; we can’t afford to let our little ones get caught while they’re still learning to fly.”

Fenris listened as each Warden at the table stood and stretched before clattering out to prepare. It was obvious they would leave as soon as possible, the faster they could catch up to the Templars the better. Fenris put Pounce onto the floor and stood as well, turning to Feyar. She was waiting, almost expecting him. Her intuition amazed him sometimes.

“I wish to go as well,” he said finally.

“Your eyes?”

“Are getting better.”

“You will not be a liability, Fenris. I will not have my men getting hurt because of you,” she said firmly.

“They will not,” he assured her.

“Good. Be ready within two hours.”

“Thank you.”


	16. Part Fifteen

_Dear Maker,_

_I am a terrible person. I know that. Really I do. One day, if you’re ever bored, just listen in to the conversations going on in my head with myself and you will know that I really pretty much hate me. With that said, I’d really appreciate it if you would just get this over with for once. I’ve been caught so many times at this point that I’m surprised they don’t just brand me on the spot anymore._

_At least they haven’t recognised me with the beard. So, yeah. Thanks for that. I don’t thank you for Velanna though. You can just smite her anytime you want, really._

_I hate you right now,_

_Anders._

He had tried Denerim, briefly, hoping that perhaps the Wonders of Thedas might not be gone. It was run by Tranquil after all, so there was no reason to hurt those mages.

Apparently there was. The place had been gutted and burned. So, he had made his way toward the Wilds, vaguely hoping he could run into Flemeth or something else down there that could help him.

When that was a bust, he found himself in Redcliffe. The dwarves were his last chance unless he stumbled across a Tranquil.

In Redcliffe he found three run away mages and a handful of Wardens.

Then the templars found them.

After everything, after all he had avoided and all he had escaped, he got picked up by the templars in Redcliffe of all places with two dead Wardens, two captured Wardens, and three teenage apostates.

They’d been travelling for four days now. The templars retracing his route from Denerim, to put them all before the Grand Cleric for judgement and public execution most likely. The templars did like to stand on ceremony, make a big show out of everything.

Which is probably why they were all ankle chained together, each with hand chains, and at least two of them gagged.

Apparently Velanna and he were annoying, so they needed their mouths closed.

“Set up camp!” the Knight-Captain said, gesturing to a clearing near the road. There were fifteen templars (at least fifteen others died capturing the Warden mages). They were led off to the side and settled under some trees while the other templars set up camp for the night. It was likely they were going to be left right where they were, so far the templars didn’t seem to care much about their comfort; though he supposed it was pointless to worry about dead mages walking. He looked up at the sky and frowned a little. It looked like rain. Maybe fog. It was only early spring, but in southern Ferelden that could turn into fog and thunderstorms very quickly.

One of the templars came over after camp was set up and handed the first mage in the chain a waterskin. The mage drank, and then he brought it to the next mage, and the next, and so on. When the templar got to Velanna and himself, he pulled their gags off first, poured the water into their mouths and then pulled the gags back up again. Needless to say, Velanna spluttered a lot with indignation. The templars kept a ‘vigil’ over them every night, letting them all ball up together to try and keep warm, but making sure there was no magic going on. Someone was always casting silence, which somewhat amused Anders, since he couldn’t use magic right now anyway.

He didn’t sleep. He wouldn’t let himself. He didn’t trust the templars any more than they trusted him, especially with the three teenagers there, cowering beside the Warden. Joran, he thought he heard them call him. He was nice, he was keeping their spirits up as best he could.

The attack came at midnight. Most of the templars were asleep, except for the two holding vigil over the mages and the one other keeping guard by the fire. All three were hit by arrows in the throat, quick succession, one right after the other. The clatter of their armor as they hit the ground woke the others, and then it was chaos.

The Wardens came out of the trees and bushes like darkspawn, rising up and cutting the templars down with ease. Anders saw Nathaniel at the end of the line, his lock picks flying. Joran was loose and grabbing a staff from one of the soldiers. Next were the teenagers, who Nathaniel directed to stay where they were. Velanna was next, and handed a staff as well. She dove in screaming things that sounded pretty obscene in elvish. Finally Nathaniel was to him and smirking.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Nathaniel said, settling comfortably as the battle raged behind him. Anders kicked his feet and swore a few times at the Warden - not that he was intelligible with the cloth in his mouth. Nathaniel just laughed and unlocked Anders’ leg from the chain before working on his hands. Anders tore the rag out of his mouth, letting it hang around his neck as he stood up.

“Ass.”

“You’re welcome,” Nathaniel replied with a bit of a grin. The soldier offered him a staff as well, but he shook his head and went to the teenagers instead.

“You guys okay?” he asked them, checking their ankles and wrists for any wounds.

“Yessir, thank you... Are these people... are they Wardens?” the oldest asked. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen.

“Yes, they are Grey Wardens, you’ll be safe with them.”

“My cousin is a Grey Warden!” the teenager said, looking at the handful of Wardens who were now going through the bodies of the dead templars, making sure they were dead. “Well, he’s sort of my cousin...”

“Anders!”

“Oh, that’s my cue,” Anders grinned at them and stood up. He turned around, knowing it was the Commander who was calling him, but he found a Warden scout in front of him instead. He had enough time to frown thoughtfully before the scout’s fist was in his face and he was on the ground, holding his bloody nose.

“What the fuck?” He looked up at the scout, his brown eyes widening slightly as the scout pulled back their hood and glared down at him with large, green eyes. “...Fenris?”

Fortunately for Anders, Nathaniel caught the elf around the waist before he could pummel the poor mage into the dirt. Fenris was very annoyed at Nathaniel having ahold of him, especially as Nathaniel was taller, so his feet were dangling off the ground a little. He set his jaw and glared at Anders. Anders stood up slowly, working his jaw and rubbing his nose.

“Doh whad wad dad for?” Anders asked, trying to keep his blood from pouring down his throat and his face at the same time.

“Velanna, heal his face, please,” Feyar said, coming up next to Nathaniel and Fenris, looking at the two with an amused expression. “You better stop hugging him like that, Nathaniel, Anders might get jealous.”

Nathaniel let go of the elf quickly and took a step back. Fenris leaned down to pick up the staff that he’d dropped so he could punch Anders while Velanna healed the blond’s nose, mumbling something about idiots who couldn’t fix themselves.

“I wouldn’t be jealous!” Anders retorted as soon as Velanna took her hand away and he could breath properly again. “Now what was that for?”

“You _promised_ ,” was all Fenris said, his lips pursed tightly and his head turned toward the cart that the soldier were loading the templar bodies on to.

“I what?” Anders blinked at him a few times, trying to remember what he had promised that he had forgotten about that had so upset the elf. “Hey wait... can... can you see?” Anders’ eyes widened as Fenris turned his head back again sharply.

“Do not change the subject, _mage_ ,” the elf retorted.

“Yes, his eyesight began returning a few days ago,” Feyar told Anders, and reached up to tug at the collar of his shirt. “I see you haven’t solved your problem yet though. What were you doing for a week and a half, Anders?”

“I was doing things! I went looking for a Tranquil in Denerim, and when I didn’t find one, I went to the Wilds to see if I could find someone, and then I was going to try the dwarves when the damn templars picked me up,” he said, huffing angrily.

“You could have stayed at the Keep and we could have told you all those things and found a dwarf to take a look at the runes besides all that,” Feyar pointed out. Anders shifted uncomfortably and looked at the ground.

“I’m not letting you drag me back into the Wardens. You said you needed my help and that means you want to drag my ass to the Deep Roads and then send me to Weisshaupt where I’ll be ‘safe’ with the other mages. Forget it.” The mage crossed his arms defiantly. Feyar sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Erik!”

“Yes, Commander?” a soldier came forward at her call.

“Go to Alistair at Kinloch, tell him we have everyone and to return to the Keep,” she told him. “Take Mayrial with you.”

“Yes Commander,” he saluted and disappeared.

“Alistair? Did you say Alistair?” The eldest of the teenagers came forward tentatively and Feyar looked at him with a smile.

“Yes. You are Connor. You look like your Uncle Teagan,” she told him. “We’ll take care of you, don’t worry. Nathaniel, get this packed up. I want to be back at the Keep in two days if possible. We don’t need to stay in the open longer than necessary with mages in our midst.”

“Yes, Commander.” Nathaniel gave Anders a Look and then stalked off to round up everyone to get them moving.

“Fenris, you’re not allowed to kill him until we get back to the Keep, alright?” Feyar pat the elf on the shoulder and turned away. Anders blinked at them both. Fenris was letting people touch him. Nathaniel had picked him up and Feyar had just pat him on the shoulder.

“Who are you and what have you done with Fenris?” Anders asked suspiciously.

“Don’t tempt me to break your nose again, _mage_ ,” Fenris retorted and turned away to follow the others.

“She didn’t make you drink anything, did she?” Anders frowned, moving to catch up. “From a big silver goblet? And they say something incredibly cheesy and then you have to say ‘So let it be’ and then you pass out?”

“What are you babbling about?” Fenris looked over his shoulder at Anders with a growl that shouldn’t have tingled up his spine the way it did.

“Okay good. Then why are you wearing Warden armour?”

“Because my armour was stolen by slavers, or have you already forgotten all that?” Anders could hear the venom. Fenris was very angry with him.

“I... well obviously not, but-”

“Just shut up, _mage_ , I don’t wish to speak to you right now.”

And with that, Fenris moved ahead, falling instep with Nathaniel, who turned to speak with him. He glanced a little further, seeing Anders and smirked a little.

He _smirked_ , that bastard. Acting like he and Fenris were best friends or something, they’d only known each other for a week! Anders began to grind his teeth. Oh if he had his magic right now, Nathaniel would have an ass full of flames, and then they’d see who’d be smirking.

_Dear Maker,_

_Nathaniel needs an ass full of flames and his balls frozen off. I wish for you to spontaneously let this collar fall off!_

Anders closed his eyes tightly for a moment, wishing with all his being.

“...Anders, you look like you’re about to soil yourself.”

“Shut up Velanna.”

_Dear Maker,_

_You suck giant fat dwarf balls. And Andraste was a two-copper hooker._

_I hate you,_

_Anders._


	17. Part Sixteen

As much as the Commander wanted to get back as soon as possible, they ended up having to stop near the evening of the next day. The three young mages were just too tired. Feyar sent the wagon with the bodies of the templars to Denerim; she would let the Grand Cleric tell their families that they were stupid enough to attack Wardens. She decided that cutting across the Bannorn would be better than trying to hike around it, so they had stopped in a grove of trees and set camp for the night, giving the three youngsters time to rest, and the others time to eat.

Anders was handed some bread and a mug of something that smelled like ale, and he flopped down near one of the fires with a sigh.

“Something wrong, Anders?” The Commander settled next to him, tearing into her own bread.

“No.”

“You sound like a stubborn child,” she commented, taking another bite of her bread. Anders rolled his eyes and took a bite as well.

“I’m just... It’s very frustrating to have this collar on. I... Nevermind.” Anders chewed his bread, looking into the fire. At least Fenris could see again. That made him feel a little better. Not a lot though, as Fenris had avoided him the entire hike through the Bannorn so far, apparently preferring to stay near Nathaniel. That was where the elf was now, his white hair flashing in the firelight, smiling at something the annoying archer was saying. Not that Anders cared. He was just going to get the stupid collar removed and then go his way and Fenris would go his. Wherever that happened to be. It didn’t matter to him. He couldn’t stand the elf, anyway.

Right?

“How is Justice?”

“Hm?”

“Well you’re... one person now, right? How is he handling your collar?”

“I don’t know,” Anders replied, looking over at Fenris again. Nathaniel was laughing at something.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Feyar, tapped on Anders’ shoulder, trying to pull his attention back to her again.

“Hm?” He looked at her briefly before his attention was pulled back to the other fire again. “He’s in the part of my mind that’s connected to my magic, so he’s sort of cut off too. I mean, our thoughts are the same, so he’s there, but I can’t feel him at the moment. Like he’s asleep or something,” Anders said vaguely, squinting a little through the firelight.

“Why don’t you just go over there and kiss him?”

“Who, Justice?” Anders blinked and looked at the short, blond elf. She rolled her eyes at the mage and shook her head.

“Fenris, idiot. You haven’t stopped looking at him since we picked you up.”

“Why would I want to- That’s- You- Just- YUCK,” Anders spluttered, and stood up, stalking away from the fire, knocking over his ale in the process. “ARGH.”

_Dear Maker,_

_Will you STOP that? I am not fussing over Fenris. I could care less what that stupid elf has been doing, or who he’s been doing. This is ridiculous._

_You suck,_

_Anders._

Anders found that he’d walked a little way out of camp and stopped, looking up at the sky for a moment. The clouds were still there; dark, heavy and threatening. He reached up and tugged at the collar around his neck, gently at first, and then with more strength. Anders gripped it with both hands and pulled, tugged, and pushed at the metal until his neck was raw and his hands hurt.

He yelled.

Long and loud and angry.

Almost as if in answer, a rumble of thunder rolled over the camp. A moment later, the rain followed.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head up to the sky, letting the rain hit him in the face. Behind him, the camp was already moving to the tents and trees to try and stay dry.

“You know what, Maker? Fuck you! I’m sick of this! I’ve been your personal punching bag since I was born! I’ve dealt with everything you’ve ever thrown at me; I’ve fought damn hard to get where I am now, and I don’t even know where that is anymore! I wish Hawke had just killed me in Kirkwall, then I wouldn’t be stuck out here with a bunch of Wardens and a magic-blocking trinket around my neck with an elf who hates my guts! I hate you!” Anders shouted at the sky. A bolt of lightning shot across the sky nearby, almost in reply, followed shortly by another crash of thunder.

“This is ridiculously futile,” he mumbled to himself, and flopped into the mud on the ground, not even caring at this point. The last month and a half had been one of the most eventful of his life, all starting with the Chantry in Kirkwall. He wasn’t supposed to still be alive now. Hawke was supposed to have killed him, that’s how the story was supposed to go. He killed the people in the Chantry for the Justice of mages, and then he would be killed for the Justice of those that he’d killed. Those were the rules, and then Hawke had refused. Now here he was, alone; all his friends were gone and he was stuck sitting in the mud and rain, hoping the Maker would take pity and hit him with lightning, surrounded by people who just wanted to use him. People who hadn’t trusted him the first time around, and people who hated him.

“You’re going to get sick, idiot.”

Anders turned his head a little and saw boots and Grey Warden armoured legs. He looked up further, squinting in the rain to see scout armour. He could just barely see the pale lyrium lines on the chin of the scout, who put out his hand. Anders stared at it dully for a moment, not really sure he wanted to put the effort into standing up or doing anything but sitting here in the mud. Fenris sighed and leaned down, taking Anders’ elbow and pulling him to his feet.

“Stop being petulant,” the elf admonished.

“I’m not being petulant,” Anders retorted. “I’m tired of being used and abused and getting stuck with people who hate me. I’m sick of being alone.”

“Hn.” Fenris put his hand on Anders’ back and directed him back toward the camp. It was empty now, everyone having curled up, two to a tent, for the night, with the exception of those on guard duty, who were hiding by a small fire under the cover of the trees. Fenris pushed Anders into a tent.

Anders stumbled into the back of the empty tent and turned around to snap at the pushy elf, but Fenris cut him off.

“I have guard duty, so get some rest. You might want to change clothes too.”

“Yeah, well stick it in your ear,” Anders replied, oh-so-maturely. Fenris snorted and picked up his staff, which was laying on the ground inside the burlap shelter.

“How about this, mage. I promise that _I_ won’t leave _you_ alone.”


	18. Epilogue

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I am doing?”

“It looks like you’re sharpening a sword.”

“Very astute of you. Can you do tricks too?”

Anders narrowed his eyes at the elf, annoyed. Fenris, so far, had kept his threat of not leaving Anders alone. In fact, Anders found that Fenris was following him everywhere. The only place he seemed to have any privacy at all was the privy. Either he was doing it out of some strange sense of duty, because he wanted to make sure Anders didn’t run again, or because he wanted to annoy the mage to death.

He was pretty sure it was the last option.

“Why are you doing it on my bed?”

“Because there is a cat on my bed,” Fenris replied, his eyes flickering across the cots to the orange tabby sleeping in the middle of his bed. Anders reached over and picked the cat up.

“There, no cat. Now get off my bed.”

“I’m almost done,” Fenris replied, pushing the whetstone across the blade in a slow, practiced motion, and looking like he was anything but close to being done.

“I’m going to ask the Commander to give you one of the guest rooms.”

“Why is that?” Fenris asked, without looking up.

“You’re not a Warden, you shouldn’t be sleeping in the barracks with the soldiers and Wardens,” Anders retorted, scratching Pounce’s chin absently.

“If she moves me to a guest room, then you’ll be all alone in here though,” Fenris pointed out without a hint of humour in his voice.

“I’ll live.”

“Yes, but I promised,” Fenris replied, moving the blade to look down the length of it, checking to make sure he got all of the nicks. The elf smirked slightly when Anders stamped his foot in frustration.

“You are insufferable! I promised you that you wouldn’t be alone, not that I would stay with you the whole time, and you weren’t alone! You had a whole castle of people at your disposal!”

“I didn’t ask you to promise a whole castle of people, mage. It was not fair of you to leave me with a group of strangers.” Anders pursed his lips, annoyed. They had already argued about this multiple times over the past week, but Fenris seemed to delight in punishing him for it.

“You... Argh!” Anders turned away and stomped out the door. A moment later, he heard the familiar step of the elf behind him, almost cheerfully following him.

 _Dear Maker,_

 _Make him leave me alone, or so help me, I will push him off the battlements._

 _No love,_

 _Anders_


End file.
